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Cluster  of  Roses 


BY 


CYNTHIA  BULLOCK. 

II 


"Thus  with  the  year 
Seasons  return  ;  but  not  to  me  returns 
Day,  or  the  sweet  approach  of  ev'n  or  morn, 
Or  sight  of  vernal  bloom,  or  summer's  rose, 
Or  flocks,  or  herds,  or  human  face  divine." 

Milton. 


NEW   YORK  : 

PRINTED   FOR    THE   AUTHOR,   BY 

STYLES   &    CASH,    77    EIGHTH    AVENUE. 

1877. 


Entered  aco  ii-(liiip  to  Act  of  Congi-ess,  in  the  year  1876,  by 

CYNTHIA  BULLOCK, 
111  the  Oftice  of  the  Librarian  of  Congriess,  at  Wa.sliington. 


0 


THE  LADIES 

WHO    MADE    HOMES    FOR    ME    WHEN    I    HAD    NONE, 

WHOSE    HOSPITABLE    DOORS 

WERE    OPEN    TO    ME    WHEN    I    HAD    NOWHERE    TO    GO, 

^U^  i^ittle  §00^ 

IS   GRATEFULLY    DEDICATED. 


Four  of  the  number,  Mrs.  "Floyd  Smith,  Mrs.  Theodore 
Martine,  Mrs.  Lathrop,  and  Mrs.  Howard,  have  gone  to 
receive  their  reward.  They  were  strangers  here,  but  the)' 
know  each  other  there,  and  rejoice  before  the  throne  of  Christ 
for  every  tear  of  mine  they  wiped  away  on  earth. 


M191798 


PREFACE. 

At  the  request  of  my  friend,  Miss  Bullock,  I  have 
arranged,  prepared  for  publication,  and  supervised 
while  i^assing  through  the  press,  the  contents  of  the 
present  volume.  In  performing  this  labor  of  love,  I 
have  not  felt  like  taking  any  extensive  liberties*with 
her  productions,  but  have  presented  them  in  the  main 
as  they  were  written;  feeling  sure  that  the  friends  for 
whom  they  are  intended  will  prefer  to  have  them  just 
as  they  emanated  from  her  own  mind,  and  while 
making  allowance  for  any  defects  that  may  appear,  will 
be  agreeably  surprised  at  their  literary  merit,  when  the 
great  disadvantages  under  which  their  author  labors 
are  considered.  In  selecting  from  the  materials  at  my 
disposal,  I  have  tried  to  secure  the  greatest  variety 
possible,  giving  specimens  of  both  prose  and  poetry, 
blank  verse  and  rhyme,  serious  compositions  as  well  as 
some  of  a  lighter  strain,  and  miscellaneous  pieces  side 
by  side  with  those  of  a  personal  bearing. 

It  is  hard  for  those  who  see  to  appreciate  the  diffi- 
culties that  ordinarily  meet  the  blind  in  their  attempts 
at  composition.  Homer  and  Milton,  indeed,  have 
proved  that  blindness  is  not  incompatible  with  trans- 
cendent genius,  or  with  the  embodiment  of  that  genius 


VI  PREFACE. 

in  poetry  that  will  live  forever;  Prescott  has  been 
equally  successful  in  the  department  of  history;  and 
many  eminent  blind  performers  and  composers  of 
music  are  living  witnesses  that  sight  is  by  no  means 
essential  to  proficiency  in  either  the  art  or  science  of 
harmony.  But  how  can  one  who  has  never  seen  a  ray 
of  light  be  expected  to  feel  or  to  describe  the  manifold 
beauties  of  nature  ?  How  can  he  who  is  measurably 
cut  off  by  the  want  of  sight  from  intercourse  with  his 
fellows  understand  the  workings  of  the  human  heart 
sufficiently  for  the  truthful  delineation  of  character  ? 
To  the  blind,  but  for  the  kindness  of  others,  literature 
is  a  sealed  book,  researches  for  information  are  impos- 
sible ;  history  must  be  read  with  the  eyes  of  friends, 
and  even  to  keep  informed  of  current  events  is  diffi- 
cult; writing  must  be  done  with  another's  pen,  and 
there  is  no  opportunity  of  reading  over  what  has  been 
written,  either  for  revision  or  to  insure  a  logical  con- 
nection of  thought.  In  a  word,  there  must  of  neces- 
sity be  an  entire  dependence  on  others ;  and  it  is  too 
often  the  case  that  the  kind  volunteers  who  are  willing 
to  aid  the  afflicted  are  themselves  not  altogether  fitted 
for  the  work  by  education  or  experience. 

Such  are  a  few  of  the  disadvantages  with  which  Miss 
BuLi.oCK  has  had  to  contend  in  composing  the  pieces 
here  presented.  They  would  have  deterred  from  the 
attempt  any  one  in  whom  energy  and  perseverance 


PREFACE.  VII 

were  not  leading  traits.  In  her  case,  to  perseverance 
and  energy  was  added  faith.  This,  I  think,  will  be 
found  the  one  prominent  feature  of  her  writings  and  of 
her  character — a  childlike,  implicit,  unfaltering  confi- 
dence in  the  good  Lord.  It  is  touching  to  see  how, 
when  wearied  and  discouraged,  when  surrounded  with 
sore  trials  and  difficulties  apparently  insurmountable, 
she  tells  her  troubles  to  her  Father,  and  always,  as  she 
says,  receives  an  answer  to  her  prayers.  Thus  her 
weakness  has  been  made  strength.  When  the  arm  of 
flesh  has  failed,  a  mightier  arm  has  sustained  her.  To 
her  mortal  eyes  sight  has  been  denied,  but  with  the 
eye  of  faith  she  is  able  to  look,  forward  into  that  better 
land  where  the  veil  will  be  removed,  and  we  may  all 
hope  to  see  no  longer  through  a  glass  darkly,  but  face 
to  face  the  brightness  of  the  Father's  glory. 

Important  lessons,  I  think,  may  be  gleaned  from  this 
little  volume.  Its  poems,  the  breathings  of  a  tried  and 
chastened  spirit,  teach  resignation  and  contentment, 
humility  and  faith,  and  set  forth  religion  as  indeed  the 
pearl  of  great  price.  Few  can  read  them  without 
profit — none,  without  according  to  their  unfortunate 
author  their  respect,  their  sympathy,  and  their  prayers. 

G.  P.  QUACKENBOS. 

N.  Y.,  Nov.  1,  1876. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE. 

A  PAGE  FROM  THE  BOOK  OF  HUMBLE  LIFE,  13 
AN  EXTRACT  FROM  MY  JOURNAL,  .  .  64 
THE  POWER  OF  A  SISTER'S  LOVE,  .  .  69 
REMINISCENCES  OF  MY  EARLY  HOME,  .  80 
A  FLOWER  FROM  THE.  BOUQUET  OF  MEMORY,  85 
WHY  CHARLES  APPLETON  BECAME  A  BENE- 
DICT,               90 

WASHINGTON'S  ROCK,        ....  108 

THOUGHTS  SUGGESTED  BY  THE  SEASONS,      .       iii 
AFFECTION'S    TRIBUTE,    ON    THE   ANNOUNCE- 
MENT OF  A  FRIEND'S  ENGAGEMENT,  iig 
LINES  W^RITTEN   AFTEK  AN  ANNIVERSARY  AT 

THE  HOME,  .  .  .  .  .120 

THE  BIBLE, 121 

LINES  ON  THE    DEATH  OF  A  SON  OF    ALONZO 

R.  CUSHMAN, 123 

SEVENTEEN  YEARS,          ....  125 

THE  ANNIVERSARY  OF  A  MOTHER'S  DEATH,       126 
HARRY'S  BRIDAL  MORN,             ...  128 

ON    THE    DEATH    OF    THE    SON    AND     DAUGH- 
TER OF  THE  REV.  MR.  OLSSEN,      .            .       129 
FRIENDSHIP'S  WHISPERS,           ...  130 

THE  FALL  OF  THE  DINNER-POT,              .            .       131 
DIRGE  OF  LIFE,        .....  133 

FRIENDSHIP'S  PRAYER,          .             .             .             .133 
IN  MEMORIAM  ISAAC  D.   RUSSELL,  .            .  135 

TRUST  IN  GOD, 137 


CONTENTS.  IX 

PAGE. 

WELCOME  HOME, 139 

THE  GOLDEN  WEDDING,       .  .  .  .140 

LINES  ON  THE  LOSS  OF  THE  STEAMER  ARCTIC,  141 
TRIBUTE  TO   THE   MEMORY  OF  THE    REV.  DR. 

TURNER,     .  .  .  .  .  .143 

TO  EMILY, 145 

GENERAL  PUTNAM'S  LEAP,  .  .  .146 

STANZAS     ON     THE     DEATH     OF     MR.     SILAS 

BROWN,  .  .  .  .  149 

PARTING  AND  MEETING,       .  .  .  .150 

LINES  TO    MY    FRIEND,  MR.   SCOTT,   ON  VISIT- 
ING HIS  NATIVE  PLACE,  .  .  151 
ADDRESS    WRITTEN    FOR    A    SUNDAY-SCHOOL 

PICNIC, 153 

"I  DO  NOT  SEE  THE  ANGELS  YET,"  .  154 

THE  FRIENDS'  MEETING,       ....       155 

TO  MRS.  A.  FREAR,  ....  157 

FAITH,        .  .  .  .  .  .  .159 

"COME,  1,ET  US  GO  TO  JESUS,"  .  .  160 

LINES  WRITTEN  FOR  MRS.  H.,         .  .  .       161 

SIGHT  TO  THE  BLIND-THEIR  BIBLE,  .  163 

LINES  ON  THE  DFATH  OF  WILLIAM   EDWARD,  164 
ON  THE  BIRTH  OF  AGNES  FREAR,  .  .       165 

WELCOME  TO  MR.  S.  B.   HAINES  AND   FAMILY, 
ON  THEIR    RETURN    FROM    THEIR    EURO- 
PEAN TRAVELS,        ....  167 

FAREWELL  TO  THE  OLD  HOME,    .  .  .168 

PRAYER  FOR  GUIDANCE,  ...  170 

TO  OUR  SISTER  IN  HEAVEN,  .  .  .171 

"WHAT  I  DO  THOU  KNOWEST  NOT  NOW,  BUT 

THOU  SHALT  KNOW  HEREAFTER,"  .       173 

THOUGHTS    FOR  THE    FATHER  AND    MOTHER 

OF  LITTLE  BESSIE,  ...  174 

TRUTH 175 

CIDER'S   REBELLION,        ....  176 

WASHINGTON, ,178 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE. 
A  BRIDAL  GREETING,        ....  179 

ON  THE  BAPTISM  OF  AN  INFAfpT,  .         .       181 

FRIENDSHIP'S    WELCOME    TO    MR.    AND    MRS. 

SMYTHE,  AND  FAMILY.    ...  1S2 

THE  FLOWERS  OF  HOPE,      .  .183 

A  NATION'S  PRAYER,        ....  184 

TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  PRINCE  ALBERT,  .       185 

TO    MRS.    WILLIAM    LEE,  AFTER    AN    ABSENCE 

OF  MANY  MONTHS,  ...  186 

EASTER  FLOWERS, 187 

THE  POWER  OF  FAITH,  ....  189 

MY  SONGSTER, 205 

THE  ANGELS'  GIFT,  ....  206 

EVENING   THOUGHTS,  .  .  .207 

WOOED   AND   WON,  .  '.  .  .  208 

HOPE, 209 

SONG  OF  THE  NEW  YEAR,        .  ,  .  211 

THE  INDIAN  WIDOW'S  DREAM,     .  .  .212 

WHY  I  DO  NOT  DRINK,  .  ...  214 

THE  PATRIARCH'S  LAST  HOURS,  ,  215 

DO  YOU  REMEMBER?       ....  217 

REST  ON  THE  ROCK,  .  .  .  .218 

NO  MORE— NO  MORE!       ....  220 

THE  KEY  OF  CONTENT, 221 

FATHERLAND,          ,            .             .            .            .  223 

THE  PASSOVER,              .            .            .            .  .225 

WHEN  THE  CARES  OF  DAY   ARE  OVER,     .  226 

THE  VOICE  OF  FLOWERS,     .            .            .  .227 

WE  MEET  AGAIN 228 


Ji  ilji$i^r  n|  \m^t. 


A   PAGE 

FROM    THE 


How  far  that  little  candle  throws  its  beams  ! 
So  shines  a  good  deed  in  a  naughty  world." 

— Shakespeare. 


Chapter    I. 

The  Father  Infinite  has  bestowed  alike  on  rich  and 
poor  the  power  of  doing  good.  The  rich  may  do 
deeds  of  greater  magnitude,  may  cause  the  hearts  of 
thousands  to  vibrate  with  wonder  and  praise ;  yet  the 
humblest  among  us  may  make  their  names  fragrant 
through  eternity,  may  place  a  jewel  in  the  crown  of 
life.  The  power  of  creating  happiness  by  conferring 
benefits,  gives  to  the  bestower  the  purest  and  most 
lasting  happiness  of  which  the  human  soul  is  suscepti- 
ble.    Love  is  God's  actuating  principle ;  therefore  he 

*  The  incidents  of  this  narrative  are  founded  on  facts.  While 
on  a  visit  at  3carsdale,  the  writer  saw  the  faithful  slave  who 
figures  as  its  heroine,  and  was  present  at  the  affecting  meeting 
between  the  sailor  and  his  long-lost  son. 


c  c  c    C    C  jf  c      ^. 
1.       tec       c  c 


14  A  CLUsi'Ek  OF'  ko^vA. 

would  not  deny  to  the  children  of  poverty  a  taste  of 
that  most  exquisite  pleasure.  "  Out  of  the  mouths  of 
babes  and  sucklings  thou  hast  perfected  praise." 

In  1849,  when  the  cholera  swept  through  our  city 
like  a  scourge ;  when  the  strongest  stood  appalled  at 
the  rapid  spread  of  the  disease,  which  then  seemed  to 
defy  medical  skill;  when  all  who  could  took  refuge  in 
the  country,  and  only  those  remained  who  were  too 
poor  or  friendless  to  find  other  homes, — there  lived  on 
the  fourth  floor  of  a  rickety  old  house  in  Cherry  Street, 
an  aged  colored  woman  ;  yet  not  alone — a  little  child 
was  the  companion  of  her  poverty,  the  object  of  her 
tenderest  care.  A  year  before,  a  stranger  sailor  had 
placed  in  her  arms  his  motherless  babe. 

''  Be  kind  to  my  poor  little  Johnny,"  he  said,  while 
the  tears  rolled  down  his  weather-beaten  cheeks;  "be 
kind  to  my  poor  little  Johnny,  for  there  is  nobody  in 
the  world  to  care  for  him  but  me,  nnd  now  I  must  go 
to  sea." 

"  O  massa,  neber  fear ;  while  Belle  has  a  piece  of 
bread,  little  pickaninny  shall  have  some  too  ;  and  de 
good  Lord,  he  Avon't  let  us  starve,  kase  we's  his  chil- 
dren— Johnny  and  I — we's  his  children." 

"  But  you  shall  be  rewarded,  Belle.  In  six  months 
I  will  come  back,  and  give  you  all  the  money  I  earn ; 
yet  money  cannot  buy  the  love  my  little  Johnny 
needs." 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  15 

*'  Massa,  de  love  has  come  already,"  she  said,  as  she 
hugged  the  baby  close  to  her  bosom  ;  "  and  if  de 
money  comes,  dat  good  ;  but  if  not,  den  de  Lord  will 
send  de  bread." 

"God  bless  you,  Belle,  God  bless  you!"  Tears 
rolled  afresh  down  his  face ;  he  wiped  them  away  with 
the  cuff  of  his  coat ;  his  heart  was  too  full  for  utter- 
ance, and  he  silently  gave  his  toil-worn  hand  to  the 
protectress  of  his  child. 

"Don't  cry,  massa;  Jesus  loves  dis  dear  little  boy; 
he  blessed  jes  sech  little  boys  when  he  was  on  earth." 
The  father  could  not  answer.  Slowly  he  descended 
the  creaking  staircase.  He  lingered  at  the  outer  door, 
as  if  he  could  not  shut  himself  out  from  his  child ;  yet 
he  did,  for  the  hardest  things  must  be  done,  the  bit- 
terest cup  must  be  drained  to  the  dregs,  and  on  his 
lacerated  heart  the  faith  of  that  poor  woman  fell  like 
the  refreshing  dew ;  it  soothed  his  anguish,  it  strength- 
ened the  better  purpose  of  his  soul. 

"  If  anybody  gives  me  a  tract,  I  won't  throw  it  away, 
and  I  won't  sell  it,  neither;  the  religion  Belle's  got  is 
the  religion  I  want,  and  I'll  get  it  if  I  can."  These 
were  the  thoughts  thnt  bore  him  company  as  he  hurried 
down  to  the  ship,  about  to  hoist  sail  and  be  away — 
down  to  the  hardships  and  toil  of  sailor-life ;  down  to 
the  bosom  of  old  ocean ;  there  to  bear  through  weary 
months  and  years  the  sorrows  of  his  surcharged  heart. 


16  A    CLUSTER    OF    RoSeS. 

In  early  life  Belle  had  been  a  slave;  but  the  kind- 
ness of  master  and  mistress  had  cemented  the  tie  of 
love,  and  when  the  State  emancipated  its  negroes, 
Belle  gladly  remained  in  her  former  home.  Clara  and 
Eliza,  the  sisters  of  Mrs.  P.,  had  carefully  instructed 
her  in  the  truths  of  the  Gospel.  They  had  made  her 
acquainted  with  the  Lord's  Prayer,  the  Creed,  and  the 
Ten  Commandments;  and  she  served  her  mistress 
faithfully,  for  she  knew  it  was  her  Heavenly  Father's 
will  that  she  should  so  do.  She  was  also  a  participant 
in  the  benefits  and  comforts  of  her  holy  church,  quietly 
walking  in  the  fear  of  God. 

In  process  of  time.  Belle  underwent  an  experience 
like  that  of  her  fairer  sisters.  A  love-dream  entered 
her  heart,  and  she  realized  it  in  Henry  Black,  a  stal- 
wart negro  then  in  the  employment  of  a  gentleman 

resident  during  the  summer  in  the  village  of  S . 

Their  ardent  feelings  would  not  admit  of  delay ;  so  when 
winter  had  covered  the  earth  with  a  robe  of  white  and 
crystallized  the  boughs  of  the  leafless  trees,  they  were 
married. 

"Oh!"  said  Clara,  as  she  laid  the  last  warm  garment 
in  her  trunk  (for  from  the  time  they  knew  their  faithful 
servitor  must  leave  them,  both  sisters  had  busily  plied 
the  needle),  "  you  do  not  love  us,  and  you  wish  to  go 
away." 

"  Oh !  don't  say  dat,  Miss  Clara,  or  you  breaks  my 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  17 

heart;  kase  you  know  I  loves  you.  You's  been  so 
good  to  me,  I  couldn't  help  it.  But  de  big  love  corned, 
and  it  filled  my  heart  chuck  full.  De  big  love  is  de 
strong  love,  and  I  must  go  wid  it.  Somehow  it  spreads 
over  all  de  rest,  but  it  don't  take  it  away — oh,  no,  it 
don't  take  it  away,  and  I  lubs  you  all  de  same.  Dere 
comes  missey;  she  knows  what  de  big  love  is." 

"  I  hope  you  may  be  very  happy  in  your  new  love, 
Belle,"  said  Mrs.  P.,  in  answer  to  her  appeal ;  "  but  re- 
member, God  must  have  your  first  love.  He  is  your 
Creator,  Christ  is  your  Saviour ;  and  do  not  forget  to 
go  to  church.  There  you  will  find  the  bread  of  life, 
and  peace  in  the  time  of  trouble,  for  trouble  will  come 
— it  comes  to  all  in  God's  good  time.  But,  if  you  do 
your  duty  faithfully  to  God  and  your  husband,  he  will 
not  forsake  you,  he  will  strengthen  and  comfort  you — 
'  He  knoweth  our  frame,  he  remembereth  we  are 
dust.'" 

"  Jest  as  if  I  could  live  widout  de  church  !"  respond- 
ed Belle.  "  I  wants  to  hear  what  de  minister  says,  and 
I  won't  forgit  de  good  words  Miss  Clara  teached  me." 

"  Don't  cry.  Belle;  I  know  you  will  be  a  good  girl." 

"  And  I'll  sing  de  same  hymns  we  singed  Sunday 
evenings,  and  say  de  same  prayers,  though  you's  be 
here  and  I  be  dar." 

"  One  God  and  one  Heaven  for  us  all.  Belle,  remem- 
ber that,     But  there  comes  the  sleigh.     In  the  box 


18  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

you  will  find  a  bed  and  bedding.  Miss  Clara  and  Miss 
Eliza  will  come  to  the  city,  and  buy  your  crockery  and 
kitchen  utensils.  You  have  been  a  good  girl ;  I  wish 
we  could  have  done  more  for  you."  She  kissed  the 
hands  of  her  mistress,  and  rode  away  to  fulfill  the 
duties  of  her  lowly  lot  according  to  the  light  received. 

Henry  was  an  excellent  carpenter,  and  readily  found 
employment.  The  family  of  Mr.  P.  returned  to  the 
routine  of  home  duties  and  social  pleasures. 

Three  years  went  by.  One  morning,  as  Henry  was 
hastening  to  his  work,  questioning  within  himself  why 
he  was  not  a  father,  since  those  later  married  had  been 
blessed  with  little  ones  to  give  and  receive  love,  and 
he  knew  Belle  would  make  such  a  good  mother,  he  was 
almost  tempted  to  murmur.  They  had  been  talking 
over  their  disappointed  hopes,  and  he  went  to  his  em- 
ployment with  a  heavy  heart.  Suddenly  the  scaffold- 
ing on  which  he  was  standing  gave  way,  he  fell,  and 
was  carried  to  his  home.  It  was  found  that,  besides  a 
contusion  on  the  head,  more  serious  injuries  had  been 
inflicted.     He  was  never  able  to  resume  work. 

"Honey,"  said  Belle  to  him  one  day,  as  he  lay 
mourning  his  helplessness,  "now  I  sees  why  God  has 
not  given  us  little  ones — kase  you  need  all  my  love 
and  care;  then  there's  no  pickaninny  to  be  afeard 
for." 

"  But  it  grieves  me,"  was  Henry's  reply,   "to  think 


A  Cluster  of  roses.  19 

that  I  must  be  a  burden  to  you,  when  I   meant  to  be 
your  support." 

"  Neber  mind,  honey ;  you's  got  friends,  and  I's  got 
hands,  and  dey  can  work." 

"  And  must  I  lie  here,  and  see  you  toiling  for  ray 
bread.''" 

"  But,  honey,  you  can  read  de  good  book,  and  feed 
my  soul  while  I  feeds  your  body ;  for  you  knows  de 
soul  gets  hungry  jest  like  de  body.  Now,  dat's  a  fair 
bargain,  and  don't  tink  you's  any  burden  to  me." 

Belle,  being  a  good  laundress,  found  more  work  than 
strong  hands  and  willing  heart  could  do ;  so  they  got 
on  comfortably,  assisted  by  the  timely  aid  of  those 
who  knew  their  worth,  the  sweetness  of  the  faith  that 
illumined  and  solaced  these  humble  followers  of  the 
Lamb.  His  body  was  fed  by  the  labor  of  her  hands, 
and  her  soul  was  refreshed  by  the  dew  of  God's  bless- 
ing, which  always  follows  a  prayerful  hearing  of  his 
word. 

Time,  which  rends  the  strongest  links  of  affection, 
brought  Henry  to  the  threshold  of  death.  "  Can  it 
be,"  said  he,  as  he  lay  on  the  bed  of  suffering,  "  that 
five  years  have  been  told  since  the  fearful  morning  that 
witnessed  my  murmuring  thoughts,  when  the  hand  of 
the  Lord  was  laid  upon  me  in  blessing,  not  in  anger.' 
I  now  see  how  gracious  he  is  in  what  he  withholds." 

"  Henry,  dese  have  been  de  blessedest  days  in   all 


so  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

our  lives,  kase  I  has  you  wid  me  all  de  time ;  and  when 
I  gits  tired,  den  we  sing  and  you  reads  de  Bible,  and 
dat  rests  me." 

"These  have  not  been  tedious  days  to  me,"  answered 
Henry,  "  for  they  have  been  fraught  with  God's  bless- 
ing, and  sweetened  with  your  love." 

"  Honey,  don't  you  tink  God  would  let  you  stay  a 
little  longer,  if  I  would  pray  all  day  and  all  night  ? 
Kase  you  knows,  when  de  disciples  prayed,  de  Lord 
opened  de  door  and  let  Peter  out ;  and,  honey,  I  can't 
live  widout  you." 

"  No,  no,  love,  my  time  has  come.  I  have  tried  to 
bear  the  cross,  and  I  think  my  Saviour  will  give  me  the 
crown.  He  knows  how  hard  it  is  for  you  to  give  me 
up;  cast  your  burden  on  him,  and  he  will  sustain 
you.  Pray  for  resignation  to  his  will,  and  rest  assured 
that  your  prayer  will  be  answered." 

The  eleventh  chapter  of  St.  John  was  read  before 
the  evening  prayer.  Christ  wept  over  Lazarus  dead ; 
how  significant  to  bereaved  hearts  are  these  tears,  for 
they  tell  us,  more  emphatically  than  words,  that  He  is 
acquainted  with  our  griefs. 

It  chanced  one  day  that  the  minister  called  when 
Belle  was  out.  During  the  conversation  that  took 
place  between  them,  Henry  said :  "  One  thing  has 
grieved  me — my  wife's  want  of  education.  I  knew  her 
intrinsic  worth,  and  I  had  hoped  after  marriage  to  have 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  21 

instructed  her;  but  I  was  obliged  to  abandon  the  effort. 
Her  mind  was  pre-occupied,  and  she  was  weary  with 
the  toils  of  the  day ;  so,  knowing  that,  though  ignorant 
of  this  world's  lore,  she  had  found  the  pearl  of  great 
price,  I  rested  content.  For  her  sake  I  thank  the 
fathers  of  our  church  for  the  plain  wording  of  her 
prayers  and  collects ;  for  when  we  knelt  together,  I  did 
not  fear  that  some  long  and  uncommon  word  would 
confuse  my  poor  wife,  and  draw  her  thoughts  away 
from  Christ.  No,  however  prone  to  the  use  of  learned 
language  a  minister  may  be,  he  cannot  display  it  there." 

"  That  thought  never  suggested  itself  to  my  mind," 
replied  the  clergyman;  "but  I  can  realize  what  a  com- 
fort it  must  have  been  to  you,  and  I  can  readily  con- 
ceive how  one  might  unconsciously  use  words  with 
which  his  hearers  are  unacquainted.  But  I  perceive 
you  have  cultivated  your  mind  to  a  greater  extent  than 
I  should  have  supposed  possible  for  one  in  your  cir- 
cumstances." 

"My  story  will  explain  it,"  answered  Henry.  "I 
was  born  in  Florida ;  my  mother  was  the  property  of 
Mr.  Bernard,  an  estimable  man — a  widower, -with  one 
little  girl,  the  only  pledge  of  love  the  pitiless  Angel  of 
Death  had  left  liim.  Over  the  graves  of  his  wife  and 
baby  the  willow  waved,  the  flowers  bloomed,  and  the 
birds  sang;  so  the  pent-up  fondness  of  his  heart  was 
lavished    on   his    little    Lucv.      The    sunbeam    of  his 


23  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

home,  the  brightness  of  his  being,  was  his  blue-eyed 
Lucy,  as  in  his  moments  of  dalliance  he  loved  to  call 
her — as  he  played  with  her  golden  curls,  or  kissed  her 
transparent  brow,  wreathed  with  the  smiles  of  child- 
hood ;  and  well  do  I  remember  how  he  trembled  with 
delight  at  each  newly-developed  charm,  and  drank  in 
the  sweetness  of  her  infant  words. 

"In  Lucy's  sixth  summer,  Mr.  Bernard  was  obliged 
to  go  to  Maine,  to  administer  the  estate  of  his  brother, 
who  had  died  intestate.  During  his  absence  a  malig- 
nant fever  broke  out  on  the  plantation.  Lucy  had 
been  too  much  indulged  to  yield  implicit  obedience  to 
the  wishes  of  her  young  governess;  when  she  knew 
her  old  nurse  was  sick,  she  ran  crying  to  her  hut  and 
threw  her  arms  about  her  neck.  '  Dear  Dinah,'  she 
sobbed,  'don't  die,  don't  leave  Lucy;  do  get  well,  and 
I  will  never,  never  be  naughty  again.' 

" '  Take  de  poor  lamb  away — she  kotch  de  fever. 
Dar,  dar,  go,  honey — you  can't  save  Dinah.' 

"  Lucy  was  carried  to  her  young  governess,  who  was 
terrified  when  she  knew  that  her  young  charge  had 
breathed  the  air  of  infection.  Her  fears  were  but  too 
well  founded ;  Lucy  fell  a  victim  to  the  fever.  All 
stood  aghast,  then  ran  hither  and  thither,  asking  each 
other  what  they  should  do.  My  mother  assumed  the 
post  of  nurse;  the  doctor  saw  she  was  equal  to  the 
emergency,  and  ordered  that  Lucy  should  be  left  ex. 


A    CLUSTER   OF   ROSES.  23 

clusively  to  her  care.  Night  and  day  she  watched  over 
the  home-idol;  it  seemed  as  if  supernatural  strength 
had  been. given  her,  and  that  the  words  of  holy  writ 
were  verified — '  As  thy  day  is,  so  shall  thy  strength  be.' 

"Lucy  implored  them  to  send  for  her  father;  but 
the  letter,  directed  to  Augusta,  did  not  reach  him. 
Still  she  cried,  '  Please  send  for  papa,  dear  papa — I 
want  to  see  him  so;  will  you  send  for  papa,  doctor?' 

"  The  crisis  came ;  it  was  an  hour  fraught  with  the 
deepest  anxiety.  My  mother  durst  not  even  move, 
but  earnestly  prayed  that  God  would  spare  the  life  so 
dear  to  all — the  life  she  knew  it  would  break  her  mas- 
ter's heart  to  come  and  find  gone  out.  She  could 
hardly  believe  the  evidence  of  sight,  when  the  blue 
eyes  opened  and  the  pale  lips  wore  a  smile. 

"'Thank  God!'  said  the  doctor,  'the  crisis  has 
passed,  and  Mr.  Bernard  will  see  his  sweet  child  again. 
You  have  watched  her  faithfully,  Emma ;  now  you  may 
take  some  rest — the  danger  is  over.' 

"My  mother  begged  to  be  allowed  to  stay,  since 
Dinah  was  dead;  she  was  not  tired — indeed  she  was 
not. 

"  The  day  following,  Mr.  Bernard  returned  ;  a  letter 
directed  to  Philadelphia  had  found  him.  His  pre- 
viously-arranged plans  were  abandoned,  and  with  the 
utmost  speed  of  steam  he  had  hastened  to  his  only  re- 
maining treasure.     She  was   sweetly  sleeping.     At  a 


24  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

gesture  from  the  doctor,  he  repressed  the  words  of  joy 
that  trembled  on  his  lips;  he  durst  not  stay,  lest  the 
warmth  of  affection  should  get  the  better  of  prudence, 
so  he  silently  passed  to  the  library. 

"'More  than  to  my  skill,'  said  the  doctor,  'are  you 
indebted  to  the  faithful  nursing  of  Emma  for  the  life 
of  your  child.  No  mother  could  have  watched  with 
more  unwearying  tenderness  or  devoted  love  over  her 
own  offspring  than  did  Emma  over  Lucy.' 

"One  day,  as  Mr.  Bernard  held  his  daughter  in  his 
arms,  he  called  my  mother  to  him.  'What  is  there,' 
he  asked,  '  that  you  would  like  most  to  have  in  all  the 
world,  if  I  could  give  it  to  you  V 

"  My  mother  folded  her  arms  across  her  breast;  the 
tears  stood  in  her  eyes.  She  feared  to  speak ;  she 
trembled  in  every  limb ;  the  boon  dearest  to  her  in  life 
she  durst  not  ask.  But  the  kind  smile  of  Mr.  Bernard 
reassured  her,  and,  falling  on  her  knees  and  kissing 
Lucy's  hand,  she  cried,  '  Dear  massa,  good  massa,  oh ! 
let  my  little  boy  be  free  !  Let  him  grow  up  a  free  man, 
and  I  will  work  for  you  and  Miss  Lucy,  and  never 
think  it  hard.  I  want  nothing  for  myself;  only  make 
my  little  Henry  free  !' 

"  'Could  you  part  with  your  boy,  if  his  best  interests 
required  it.^'  asked  Mr.  Bernard. 

'"Yes,  if  he  is  to  be  free,'  was  my  mother's  eager 
answer. 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSKS.  25 

"'Dismiss  your  fears,'  said  Mr.  Bernard;  'I  will 
send  him  to  those  who  will,  do  justice  to  him,  and  when 
Lucy  is  old  enough  to  take  care  of  herself  you  shall 
join  him.' 

"'That  is  the  best  thing  you  ever  did,'  said  the  doc- 
tor to  Mr.  Bernard;  'leave  the  matter  to  me;  I  will 
find  a  good  place  for  the  boy.' 

"  Three  weeks  afterwards,  the  papers  were  placed  in 
my  mother's  hands.  The  doctor  had  written  to  a 
friend  of  his,  an  architect,  who  wanted  a  boy  to  do 
errands.  I  was  to  go  to  school  until  I  was  old  enough 
to  learn  the  trade  of  my  employer.  Mr.  Bernard 
placed  two  hundred  dollars  in  the  doctor's  hands,  to 
be  spent  for  my  benefit,  if  required  ;  if  not,  it  was  to  be 
allowed  to  accumulate  for  a  birthday  gift  when  I  was 
twenty-one.  So,  in  the  autumn  of  my  eighth  year,  I 
received  my  mother's  last  kiss,  and  was  taken  to  my 
new  life. 

"  Mr.  Bernard  proposed  my  not  going  till  spring, 
but  my  mother  could  not  entertain  the  thought;  she 
feared  that  by  some  unforeseen  event  the  golden  op- 
portunity might  be  lost,  and  though  her  heart  was  torn 
by  the  wrench,  she  would  not  allow  feeling  to  super- 
sede judgment.  The  doctor  was  obliged  to  go  to 
Boston  to  attend  a  medical  convention,  and  she  could 
trust  me  to  his  care. 

"  Mr.  Dill,  in  whose  family,  through  the  providence 


26  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

of  God,  I  was  placed,  was  a  truly  pious  man.  His  wife 
had  passed  the  meridian  of  life,  and  her  brown  locks 
were  threaded  with  grey.  She  was  kind  to  me,  although 
she  had  to  contend  with  an  irascible  temper,  and  I 
sometimes  thought  myself  unjustly  punished.  George, 
their  only  child,  was  two  years  my  senior.  He  gave 
me  his  little  books,  and  when  he  saw  it  pleased  his 
father,  he  taught  me  the  alphabet,  for  Mr.  Dill  incul- 
cated the  practice  of  the  principle  of  love,  which  he 
said  was  the  foundation-stone  of  religion. 

"  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  know  what  my  home  was 
like.  The  neat  white  house,  with  green  blinds,  stood 
a  little  back  from  the  road,  shaded  by  a  mountain  ash. 
As  you  entered  the  gate,  a  narrow  path,  bordered  with 
box  and  redolent  with  flowers,  brought  you  to  the 
door  ;  the  stoop  had  seats  facing  each  other.  More 
precious  than  the  dews  of  Hermon  is  the  memory  of 
that  porch;  for  there,  on  each  Lord's  Day,  the  young 
lips  of  George  distilled  into  my  soul  the  truths  of  eter- 
nal life. 

"  Do  not  iniqigine  from  this  that  George  was  one  of 
your  sad,  serious,  long-faced  boys  ;  on  the  contrary,  he 
was  among  the  wildest  and  most  mischievous  of  chil- 
dren. In  every  prank  he  was  the  leader;  but  Mr.  Dill 
had  impressed  on  his  mind  the  precept  of  the  wise 
man,  'Whatsoever  thy  hand  findeth  to  do,  do  it  with 
all  thy  might;'  and  when  the  Lord's  Day  came,  George 


A    CLUSTER   OF    ROSES.  27 

would  as  soon  have  thought  of  throwing  himself  into 
the  fire  as  playing ;  religion,  being  the  business  of  the 
day,  absorbed  all  other  considerations  in  this  well- 
regulated  family.  The  task  of  instruction  gave  him  a 
higher  idea  of  his  own  responsibility,  and  early  initiated 
him  in  the  secret  of  doing  good.  Religion  is  love  in 
embryo,  love  developing,  love  perfected ;  it  springs 
from  the  fount  of  love — pure,  undefiled  love — the  es- 
sence of  God  himself;  and  even  in  our  days  of  fasting 
the  radiance  of  that  love  diffuses  itself  through  the  sin- 
stricken  soul,  till  the  bitter  waters  of  repentance  are 
sweetened  by  the  infusion  of  a  still  and  holy  joy. 

"  In  the  rear  of  the  house  were  two  horse-chestnuts, 
whose  branches  met  and  formed  a  perfect  shade ;  be- 
yond was  the  garden,  in  which  I  have  spent  many 
happy  hours;  for  a  peculiar  pleasure  springs  from  the 
development  of  nature,  especially  when  the  seeds  have 
been  planted  by  one's  own  hand. 

"  From  time  to  time  I  heard  from  my  mother.  At 
last  a  letter  came  from  the  doctor,  telling  me  that  for 
her  there  were  no  more  tears,  no  more  sighing ;  and 
soon  after  he  informed  me  that  Lucy  had  been  placed 
in  a  boarding-school  at  Boston.  When  circumstances 
prevented  my  going  to  school,  George  not  only  lent  me 
books,  but  heard  the  lessons  which  I  found  time 
during  the  long  winter  evenings  to  study.  It  was  not 
till  George  entered  college  that  I  realized  all  he  had 


28  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

been  to  me,  but  I  trust  that  the  seeds  then  planted  in 
my  heart  will  bear  fruit  in  eternity. 

"  At  the  expiration  of  my  apprenticeship,  Mr.  Ber- 
nard, who  was  staying  with  a  friend  in  Augusta,  wished 
to  travel  for  the  re-establishment  of  his  health.  A 
desire  to  become  acquainted  with  places  and  scenes 
about  which  I  had  read,  induced  me  to  enter  his  service. 

"  From  Mr.  Bernard  I  learned  it  was  Lucy's  soft 
hand  that  closed  my  mother's  eyes  and  scattered  the 
first  flowers  over  her  grave.  I  remained  with  him  till 
circumstances  rendered  a  return  to  the  South  a  neces- 
sity. One  of  his  college  chums,  with  whom  he  spent  a 
few  days,  wanted  a  man  to  work  in  his  garden.  I  took 
the  place,  and  retained  it  till  my  marriage." 


Chapter    II. 

A  few  days  after  the  conversation  related  in  the  last 
chapter,  the  dying  Christian  expressed  a  desire  to  taste 
the  memorials  of  his  Saviour's  dying  love ;  so  the  stand 
was  covered  with  a  snowy  napkin,  in  readiness  for  the 
consecrated  elements.  Henry  was  supported  in  his 
arm-chair.  Two  female  friends  were  seated  near  him, 
when  the  minister  entered — but  not  alone;  a  man  with 
a  frank,  open  countenance,  brown  eyes,  and  black  hair, 
was  his  companion. 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  29 

"Henry,  can  you  bear  a  surprise?"  asked  the 
minister. 

"  Yes,  all  is  from  the  Lord,"  was  the  reply. 

The  gentleman  stepped  up  and  took  his  hand ; 
Henry  recognized  the  boy-teacher  of  his  childhood. 
"Father,"  he  cried,  "I  thank  thee  that  thou  didst  hear 
my  prayer!" 

"Did  you  indeed  pray  for  my  coming.?"  asked  his 
visitor. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Henry ;  "that  was  my  earnest,  though 
unexpressed  wish,  and  I  told  it  only  to  Jesus." 

"  How  remarkable!"  exclaimed  the  gentleman ;  and 
then  turning  to  the  minister,  he  added,  "  I  was  so 
strongly  impressed  that  I  must  go  to  Mrs.  Haven's, 
where  I  met  you,  while  on  my  way  to  the  Oratorio  of  the 
Messiah,  that  I  felt  constrained  to  forego  my  original 
purpose  and  obey  the  admonition." 

"  Oh!  can  it  be,"  cried  Henry,  "  that,  poor  and  un- 
worthy as  I  am,  my  prayer  has  been  so  wonderfully 
answered  by  the  Lord  of  Heaven  and  earth  ?  My  soul 
is  overwhelmed  with  gratitude ;  oh !  why  is  the  Lord 
so  good  to  me?     Praise,  praise  to  his  name  forever!" 

How  full  of  consolation,  how  rich  with  the  unction 
of  peace,  the  Saviour's  feast  of  love  is,  only  the  dying 
know  who  stand  on  the  verge  of  the  better  land,  wait- 
ing for  entrance  into  his  blessed  presence  ;  and  to  the 
communicating  friends  it  is  the  pledge  of  an  eternal 


30  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

union,  a  Sabbath  of  holy  memory.  Only  eternity  can 
show  how  the  holy  communion  strengthens  the  soul  of 
the  dying,  and  supports  the  timid  feet  about  to  tread 
the  waters  of  Jordan  ;  we  shall  realize  its  efficacy 
only  when  we  recount  to  each  other  the  needful  stripes 
the  hand  of  tender  love  was  obliged  to  lay  upon  us  to 
keep  us  in  the  narrow  path. 

The  Gloria  in  Eixcelsis,  at  the  close  of  the  ceremony, 
rose  from  grateful  hearts.  The  bass  of  George,  the 
tenor  of  the  minister,  and  the  soprano  of  the  women, 
blended  harmoniously,  floated  out  of  the  window,  and 
little  children  on  the  sidewalk  stopped  their  play  to 
listen,  as  the  cadence  of  angelic  song  vibrated  on  the 
evening  air,  and  reached  the  bended  ear  of  God. 
Henry  had  wished  to  hear  once  more  this  chant,  whose 
petitions  were  the  life-blood  of  his  soul;  it  needed  not 
the  organ-sustaining  power,  for  their  glowing  hearts 
were  touched  by  the  finger  of  love. 

The  holy  rite  was  over  just  as  the  last  rays  of  sun- 
light died.  None  too  soon  had  this  dying  saint  feasted 
at  the  board  of  his  Lord.  The  morning  sun  rose 
brightly,  but  he  needed  not  its  shining ;  his  sun  was 
the  Saviour  himself.  He  had  gone  to  mingle  with  the 
great  and  good  of  ages;  in  the  midnight  hour  God's 
messenger  had  come.  The  transition  was  so  gradual 
as  not  to  give  the  idea  of  pain,  and  the  friend  of  his 
boyhood,  who  was   sitting  by  the   bed,  could   hardly 


A    CLUSTER    OK    ROSES.  31 

realize  that  the  end  had  come.  In  that  humble  room, 
with  its  poor  surroundings,  George  knelt  down  and 
thanked  God  for  the  triumphant  departure  of  his  for- 
mer pupil,  at  the  same  time  dedicating  himself  anew  to 
his  Creator's  service.  Belle  obeyed  the  injunction  of 
her  husband,  and  the  prayer  for  resignation  and  strength 
was  sweetly  answered. 

Henry  is  sleeping  in  a  green  grave  over  which  the 
oriole  and  the  robin  sing,  and  the  sunbeams  kiss  the 
sod  that  covers  him.  It  was  George's  privilege  to  pur- 
chase this  resting-place  for  his  humble  friend,  and  leave 
a  remembrance  with  Belle  ere  he  went  forth  to  resume 
his  place  on  the  world's  stage.  His  vocation  was  not 
the  ministry.  The  habits  of  mind  which  he  owed  to 
the  precepts  carefully  inculcated  by  his  father  had 
made  him  equal  to  the  most  complicated  business 
operations,  and  his  efforts  seldom  or  never  failed  of 
success.  But  he  was  not  puffed  up  by  his  prosperity ; 
recognizing  his  God  as  the  merciful  giver  of  every  good 
and  perfect  gift,  he  consecrated  the  fourth  of  his  income 
to  the  relief  of  the  suffering  and  the  enlightenment  of 
the  darkened. 


Chapter    III. 

We  must  now  carry  the  reader  back  to  the;  home- 
stead  of  Locust  Grove,  the  residence  of  Mrs.  P.      It 


32  A    CLUSTER   OF    ROSES. 

was  built  before  the  Revolution,  and  for  many  years 
was  the  only  large  house  the  village  boasted. 

The  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun  were  fast  melting 
into  the  purple  of  evening,  and  a  fresh  breeze  was 
stirring  the  leaves.  Two  ladies  were  seated  on  the 
piazza,  shaded  by  wistarias  and  honeysuckles.  In 
front  lay  a  velvety  lawn,  and  in  its  centre  a  large 
mound,  where  flowers  were  promiscuously  grouped  to- 
gether. This  was  Mrs.  P. 's  peculiar  care,  and  she 
called  it  her  conglomeration. 

"Oh!"  said  Eliza,  as  a  delicious  zephyr  swept  by, 
"  how  refreshing  is  this  pure  draft  of  nature's  breath  ! 
The  day  has  been  so  close  and  stifling." 

"And  if  we,  dear  Eliza,"  replied  her  sister,  "who 
are  embosomed  in  Locust  Grove,  have  suffered  such 
discomfort,  how  dreadful  must  be  the  lot  of  those  poor 
creatures  who  are  mewedup  in  the  attics  of  tenement- 
houses  in  the  dense  part  of  the  city,  where  the  scorch- 
ing heat  of  the  July  sun  penetrates  the  roof  all  the  day 
long,  and  the  invalid,  as  he  tosses  on  his  bed  of  suffer- 
ing, cannot  be  screened  from  its  intensity.  I  have 
been  thinking  of  Belle ;  how  I  wish  the  poor  old  body 
was  with  us  !" 

As  she  spoke,  her  sister  rose,  and  looking  earnestly 
at  an  object  in  the  distance,  exclaimed,  "Well,  Clara, 
I  verily  believe  your  wish  will  be  gratified;  for  unless 
my  eyes  greatly  deceive  me,  there  is  Belle  this  very 


A   CLUSTER  OF   ROSES.  3S 

moment  descending  the  hill.  But  see,  she  is  carrying 
a  child,  and  a  white  child,  too;  where  would  Belle  get 
an  infant,  and  what  could  have  induced  her  to  bring  it 
here  ?" 

Yes,  it  was  Belle,  indeed.  She  had  borne  her  pre- 
cious burden  through  the  broiling  sun,  up  hill,  down 
hill,  and  over  hills  again,  the  perspiration  saturating 
her  garments  and  pouring  from  her  hands  and  face, 
her  strength  momentarily  becoming  less  and  less ;  but 
when  she  had  been  obliged  to  sit  down  from  sheer  ex- 
haustion, she  would  repeat  to  herself  some  verses  from 
the  good  book,  which  her  husband  had  taught  her,  and 
then  resume  her  wearisome  walk.  She  had  reached 
the  foot  of  the  last  hill,  and  entered  the  precincts  of 
her  former  home.  Now  she  leads  the  child ;  the  soft 
grass  w\\\  be  a  refreshment  to  his  warm  feet,  and  afford 
her  a  little  rest. 

They  passed  the  mound  of  flowers.  Clara  and  Eliza 
ran  down  the  steps  to  welcome  their  old  servant. 

"Johnny!  Johnny!"  cried  Belle  —  "don't  send 
Johnny  away." 

"But  where  did  you  pick  him  up?" 

"  O  missus,  I  brings  him  here  kase  he's  got  no  home. 
Please,  dear  missus,  let  poor  Johnny  stay.  I's  not 
feeble,  and  I'll  work  all  de  time  if  you'll  only  let 
Johnny  live  here.  He's  got  nobody  to  love  him  but 
me,  and  I  wouldn't  leave  him  for  all  de  world.     Don't, 


34  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

dear  missus — don't  send  Johnny  away  !"  and  she  knelt 
before  Mrs.  P.  and  clasped  her  dress. 

"  O  missus,  please  say  de  kind  word,  de  good  word, 
and  de  Lord  will  bless  you  for  it.  Johnny's  no  home, 
and  I's  no  home.  I  know's  I's  welcome  here — but 
Johnny — poor  little  Johnny — " 

"  Johnny,  too,  shall  stay,"  said  Mrs.  P.,  her  eyes  fill- 
ing with  tears. 

"Praise  de  Lord  I  Johnny's  safe!"  burst  forth  the 
good  woman  in  her  delight,  and  she  kissed  her  little 
charge  again.  "  O  Johnny,  I's  so  happy.  You'll  neb- 
er  be  hungry  any  more.  De  good  ladies  will  feed 
you,  dey  will  clothe  you,  dey  will  tell  you  how  to  serve 
de  good  Lord.  It  was  he  that  brought  you  here, 
Johnny  ;  glory  to  de  good  Lord  foreber  and  eber!" 

Belle's  volubility  had  not  before  given  her  mistress 
time  to  speak  the  words  of  comfort  that  filled  her  with 
such  exquisite  joy.  She  had  no  intention  of  sending 
away  the  little  one  God  had  sent  to  her  door;  else 
liow  could  she  say,  "Our  Father!"  and  expect  his 
blessing. 

A  new  world  opened  to  the  child,  before  pent  up  on 
the  fourth  floor  of  a  tenement-house.  It  was  not 
strange  that  his  black  eyes  sparkled  with  the  delight 
that  animated  his  being,  as  he  bounded  over  the  grass, 
played  with  the  lambs,  or  followed  his  mistress  when 
she  fed  the  chickens  and  ducks.     And  Johnny  throve 


A   CLUSfER   Ol'-'    ROSE?;.  3r) 

under  the  careful  tuition  of  Clara  and  the  thoughtful 
kindness  of  Eliza;  his  infant  mind  expanded,  and  his 
fragile  frame  gained  vigor. 

Meanwhile  the  distracted  sailor,  now  returned  from 
his  voyage,  was  wandering  through  the  streets  of  New 
York,  vainly  seeking  tidings  of  his  child  or  its  nurse. 
He  mounted  the  stairs  of  every  tenement  in  Cherry 
Street,  visited  all  the  localities  where  the  poor  are  domi- 
ciled, and  went  through  the  suburbs  where  colored  peo- 
ple live ;  but  every  effort  proved  fruitless,  and  with  a 
heart  bordering  on  despair  he  went  back  to  the  ship. 
One  day  more  remained.  Again,  through  the  scorch- 
ing sun,  over  the  burning  pavements,  he  pursued  his 
weary  way.  The  police  head-quarters  could  afford  no 
information.     The  time  was  up. 

"Oh  Jimmy!"  cried  the  agonized  father  to  a  com- 
})anion,  while  tears  rained  down  his  cheeks,  "  if  I  knew 
my  dear  Johnny  had  died — if  I  knew  he  had  never 
been  hungry  or  cruelly  treated,  it  would  not  be  so  hard 
to  bear." 

"  It's  a  bitter  pill,  old  tar,"  was  the  reply;  "  but  just 
leave  him  in  the  hands  of  the  Lord." 

"Oh  Jimmy,  you've  never  been  a  father.  He  was 
the  light  of  these  old  eyes." 

"True,  man,  true!  But  God  has  said,  'Commit  thy 
fatherless  children  to  me.'  I  learned  that  when  I  was 
a  wee  lad  at  my  mither's  knee.     My  father   died,  and 


56  A   CLtfStER   OF   ROSES. 

my  uncle,  who  was  first  mate,  would  have  me  go  tO 
sea.  It  almost  broke  my  mither's  heart  to  lose  her 
bairn.  The  Bible  she  gave  me  then  is  the  Bible  in  my 
chest  now;  'tis  the  only  thing  I  saved  when  we  were 
wrecked.  My  uncle  was  lost  overboard  in  a  storm; 
then,  Jack,  I  had  hard  times,  for  boys  at  sea  have 
rough  weather  when  there's  none  to  take  their  part. 
When  I  knew  I  had  been  unjustly  beaten,  I  read  my 
Bible,  and  called  to  mind  my  mither's  words  :  '  God 
never  forsakes  those  who  trust  him,  though  he  some- 
times keeps  them  waiting  many  years.  He  only  wants 
to  try  our  faith. '  My  mither's  prayers  were  answered, 
and  so  will  yours  and  mine  be." 

So,  during  their  long  voyage,  the  Bible,  his  mother's 
last  gift  ere  he  left  his  humble  home  in  Inverness,  was 
the  magnet  of  their  souls.  The  faith  that  scintillated 
in  its  pages  nerved  the  sinking  heart  of  the  desolate 
father  to  suffer  and  to  wait ;  while  its  words,  perfumed 
with  the  Saviour's  pardoning  love,  filled  them  both  with 
ineffable  peace. 

How  truly  is  it  said,  "  Man  proposes,  but  God  dis- 
poses." Struck  by  lightning,  the  ship  in  which  Jack 
and  his  companion  sailed  was  burned  to  the  water's 
edge,  and  at  the  time  at  which  Jack  confidently  ex- 
pected to  have  been  with  his  child,  he  was  tossing  in 
an  open  boat  on  the  fathomless  ocean,  only  four  be- 
sides himself  and  Jimmy  having  escaped.     Jimmy  laid 


A   CLUSTER  OP   ROSE§.  3'}' 

the  Bible  on  his  breast  and  fastened  it  to  his  person. 
On  the  third  morning  they  were  picked  up  by  a  ship 
bound  for  Africa. 

Jack's  distress  of  mind,  consequent  on  his  great  disap- 
pointment, induced  a  fever,  and  he  found  himself  sick 
and  a  stranger  on  a  foreign  shore  ;  but  through  the  kind- 
ness of  a  gentleman  he  was  conveyed  to  a  hospital,  where 
he  found  refreshment  and  care.  Jimmy  refused  the  of- 
fer of  an  immediate  return  home,  and  awaited  Jack's  re- 
covery, doing  odd  jobs  whenever  he  could  find  them. 

A  warm  friendship  had  sprung  up  between  these  two 
sailors,  based  on  their  common  interest  in  heavenly 
things.  When  Jack,  awakened  by  the  words  of  the  poor 
colored  woman,  had  earnestly  desired  to  become  a  Chris- 
tian, he  was  not  long  in  discovering  the  owner  of  the  Bible 
— the  gift  of  a  mother's  love — and  pouring  his  perplexi- 
ties into  his  friend's  ears.  And  Jimmy  was  but  too  glad  to 
afford  all  the  instruction  and  comfort  in  his  power.  They 
had  found  frequent  opportunities  for  reading  and  prayer, 
which  were  blessed  to  both  ;  and  in  thus  being  made  the 
humble  instrument  of  a  spiritual  change  in  his  compan- 
ion, Jimmy  recognized  an  answer  to  his  mother's  prayer. 


Chapter    IV. 

To  the  inmates  of  Locust  Grove,  quietly  engaged  in  the 
performance  of  their  home  duties,  time  flew  rapidly  by. 

2 


38  A    CLUSTER   OF    ROSES. 

"  Does  it  seem  possible,"  said  Eliza  one  day  to  hei' 
sister,  "  that  little  John  will  be  six  to-morrow  ?  The 
years  have  been  playing  a  double-quick  march.  I  have 
been  thinking,  Clara,  that  we  had  better  place  him  in 
some  Church  institution,  where  he  can  have  the  com- 
panionship of  children.  You  know  we  have  often 
mooted  the  question  as  to  what  position  we  should 
educate  him  to  fill.  If  brother  were  a  man  of  wealth, 
this  need  not  be  a  matter  of  anxiety  ;  but  as  it  is,  we 
must  give  it  careful  thought." 

''  We  must,  indeed,"  replied  Clara  ;  "  and  perhaps 
you  are  right  about  sending  him  away.  But  we  must 
not  lose  sight  of  him  ;  he  must  still  be  our  care." 

So  it  was  settled.  It  cost  Belle  many  tears  to  part 
with  her  foster-child,  but  she  knew  her  mistresses  would 
take  no  step  that  would  not  be  for  his  ultimate  good. 
Johnny  was  therefore  placed  in  the  Orphans'  Home. 

At  the  expiration  of  six  months,  he  was  seized  with  a 

dangerous  illness.     '^  Oh  !  take  me  back  to  S ,"  he 

•cried.  "  I  know  I  should  get  well  if  I  could  be  there  ! 
I  want  to  see  Aunt  Belle." 

"  It  is  his  only  chance,"  said  the  doctor.  A  bed  was 
made  in  the  carriage,  and  he  was  carefully  conveyed  to 
Locust  Grove.  The  effect  of  the  change  was  at  once 
manifest,  and  under  the  tender  nursing  of  the  inmates 
his  recovery  was  rapid. 

When  Johnny's  restoration  to  health  was  almost  com- 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  39 

pleted,  an  event  of  special  interest  stirred  the  wonted 
quiet  of  the  little  village.  It  was  the  Lord's  Day  ;  the 
sky  was  cloudless  ;  June  roses  scented  the  air  ;  the  birds 
were  singing  from  tree  to  tree.  A  large  concourse  had 
gathered  from  the  adjacent  hamlets,  and  even  from  the 
distant  city  ;  their  faces  were  radiant  with  joy,  for  a  hill 
had  been  adorned  with  a  temple  of  God,  and  this  day 
was  to  witness  its  consecration.  While  the  edifice  was 
in  process  of  erection,  Mr.  Payson  had  opened  the  doors 
of  his  house,  that  the  neighbors  might  enjoy  the  bene- 
fits of  public  worship.  Now  that  the  building  was 
complete,  his  heart  was  filled  with  gratitude  ;  nor  his 
alone.  To  the  unspeakable  delight  of  Belle,  Johnny 
was  able  to  walk  to  church. 

"  'Tis  de  joy  of  dese  poor  old  eyes,  Johnny,"  she  ex- 
claimed— "  dis  dear  church  ;  and  I  hopes  to  live  to  see 
you  confirmed  in  it.  Den  I  can  die  happy,  kase  I  know 
you  will  be  in  de  Good  Shepherd's  fold,  and  he'll  not  let 
de  evil  one  hurt  you,  and  you'll  be  forever  safe,  Johnny." 

A  few  weeks  afterward,  one  was  a  guest  at  Locust 
Grove  on  whose  orbs  the  sunlight  shone  in  vain.  As 
they  led  her  over  the  stile  and  up  the  hill,  they  said, 
"The  birds  do- not  sing  here;  the  trees  are  newly 
planted." 

"  No,"  she  replied,  "  but  they  will  when  these  trees 
have  seen  a  few  more  suns  and  showers."  Her  thoughts 
wove  themselves  thus  into  song  : — 


40  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

The  rosy  tints  of  morn  are  bright ; 
The  Sabbath's  pure  ethereal  Hght 
Seems  like  a  charmed  breath  from  Heaven, 
To  weary  toiling  mortals  given. 

Hark  !  on  the  still  and  fragrant  air, 
What  sound  comes  softly  to  the  ear  ? 
Oh  !  list  again  ;  I  know  it  well — 
It  is  the  holy  Sabbath  bell. 

Come,  Christians,  haste  to  praise  and  pray. 
Fling  earthly  cares  and  thoughts  away  ; 
In  hope  rejoice,  while  glorious  faith 
Brightens  the  shadowy  vale  of  death. 

How  bland  the  breeze,  how  sweet  the  air  ! 
Ascend  yon  hill — the  place  is  there  ; 
Surrounded  by  the  evergreen. 
Locust,  and  elm,  that  church  is  seen. 

Meet  guardians  of  its  sacred  rest ! 
Here,  little  birds,  come  make  your  nest ; 
From  the  green  branches  of  these  trees, 
Send  forth  your  music  on  the  breeze. 

Each  thing  our  God  has  formed  in  love, 
Has  a  sweet  note  to  raise  above  ; 
The  flowers  that  in  the  churchyard  bloom, 
Are  angels'  whisperings  from  the  tomb. 

Enter  God's  chosen  house  of  prayer  ! 
Stranger  and  poor  are  welcome  here  ; 


A   CLUSTER   OF    ROSES.  41 

All  seats  are  free,  come  swell  the  song, 
The  holy  tide  of  joy  prolong. 

See  on  the  pictured  window  bright, 
The  last  faint  rays  of  dying  light ; 
So  passeth  man  from  earth  away. 
So  fade  the  dreams  of  early  day. 

Here  the  baptismal  font  I  see. 
Whose  waters  cleanse  the  spirit  free 
From  eartlily  dross,  giving  it  rest 
In  the  dear  church  its  God  has  blessed. 

Havei;^  of  peace  and  ark  of  love, 

Saint  James  the  Less  still  mayest  thou  prove  ! 

Here  may  the  poor  afflicted  find 

Hope,  faith,  and  joy — pure  peace  of  mind  ! 


Chapter   V. 

The  crimson  day  had  superseded  the  leaden  hues  of 
night ;  the  sun  had  risen  gloriously,  and  Nature  seemed 
rejoicing  in  her  new-created  loveliness.  The  dew-drops 
were  gemming  a  hundred  varieties  of  roses,  and  a  soft 
breeze  played  with  the  boughs  of  the  evergreens  and 
stirred  the  leaves  of  the  larch  in  front  of  the  verandah, 
where  a  lady  in  the  meridian  of  life  was  standing.  Her 
figure  was  round  and  full,  though  not  above  the  medium 


42  A    CLUSTER   OF   ROSES. 

size.  Her  blue  eyes  were  beaming  with  pleasure,  and 
their  clear  depths  revealed  no  story  of  suffering.  Her 
life  had  glided  as  peacefully  and  pleasantly  along  as  the 
brook  that  meanders  through  the  brightest  and  sunniest 
of  vales  ;  her  golden  locks  were  turning  gray,  but  her 
brow  bore  not  one  trace  of  care. 

"  Come,  Lizzie,"  she  said  to  her  companion,  "  I  will 
read  you  some  leaves  from  the  record  of  the  past. 
There  cannot  be  a  more  enchanting  morning  than  this 
for  the  fulfillment  of  my  promise." 

The  slight  girl  to  whom  this  remark  was  addressed 
was  the  photograph  of  what  the  speaker  herself  must 
have  been  in  early  life.  They  leave  the  verandah  and 
descend  the  terrace,  but  stop  entranced  by  the  magnifi- 
cent panorama  before  and  around  them.  Beyond  the 
river,  green  fields  replete  with  promise,  purple  hills, 
and  cragged  mountains,  meet  the  eye  ;  in  another  direc- 
tion, picturesque  villages,  towering  rocks,  and  the  spires 
of  a  distant  city.  Now  they  pass  the  rustic  bridge  to 
the  little  summer-house  that  crowns  the  island  in  the 
lake. 

"  A  few  weeks  before  I  graduated  from  the  school  of 
Madame  S.,  in  Boston,"  began  the  elder  lady,  "my 
father  came  to  make  arrangements  for  our  going  abroad. 
At  London  we  heard  of  a  beneficent  young  American, 
who  endowed  orphans'  homes,  sustained  ragged  schools, 
and  gave  largely  to   missionary  enterprises — who,  in 


A-  CLUSTER   OF    ROSES.  43 

short,  devoted  his  life  to  the  relief  of  human  suffering. 
It  chanced  one  day  that  we  met  him  at  table  dliote^  at 
the  hotel  where  we  were  staying.  Oh  !  how  I  longed 
to  know  him  intimately  ;  and  yet  there  seemed  not  the 
slightest  chance  of  an  introduction. 

"  We  spent  the  summer  in  Switzerland,  my  father 
thinking  that  the  mountain  air  would  more  effectually 
establish  his  health  ;  in  the  autumn  we  travelled  in  Italy. 
Not  unfrequently  would  I  be  told  by  Americans  stay- 
ing at  the  villages  where  we  stopped,  Mr.  Dill  left  this 
morning  ;  or,  Mr.  Dill  has  just  gone  to  such  a  place. 
Oh  !  if  we  had  but  arrived  a  few  hours  sooner,  we 
might  have  met ;  so  I  inwardly  soliloquized,  while 
conversing  with  those  about  me,  and  seeming  to  be 
wholly  absorbed  in  the  subject  discussed.  The  more 
improbable  seemed  our  meeting,  the  more  anxious  I 
was  that  it  should  take  place  ;  not  that  I  had  an  over- 
weaning  desire  to  be  loved  by  him — no,  I  had  not  the 
most  distant  idea  of  such  an  event.  It  was  his  intrin- 
sic excellence  that  won  my  veneration  ;  I  wished  to 
take  the  hand  that  only  ministered  blessings  to  his  fel- 
low-men. 

"We  met  friends  who  had  arranged  to  spend  the 
winter  at  Dresden  ;  and  as  the  society  there  was  of  the 
highest  order,  and  its  advantages,  social  and  intellectual, 
could  not  be  surpassed,  my  father  unhesitatingly  con- 
sented to  join  them  ;  so  we  found  ourselves  established 


44  A    CLUSTER   OF    ROSES, 

at  the  Hotel  Belle  Viie  for  the  winter.  Thue  could 
not  drag  on  leaden  wings  when  taste  was  gratified  by 
the  most  exquisite  specimens  of  art,  the  ear  charmed 
with  the  richest  of  harmony,  and  the  mind  enlarged  by 
intercourse  with  people  of  culture. 

"  One  day,  the  brightest  in  the  bouquet  of  memory — 
a  day  so  imprinted  in  the  soul  that  the  waters  of  Lethe 
might  roll  over  it  forever,  yet  could  not  wash  it  out. — 
I  had  stolen  away  from  our  party,  who  were  wandering 
in  the  picture-gallery,  for  I  wished  to  drink  in  fresh 
draughts  of  beauty  from  the  divine  countenance  of  a 
Madonna,  irradiated  with  a  smile  too  sweet  for  the  por- 
traiture of  words  ;  and,  as  I  gazed,  a  thrill  of  devo- 
tion warmed  my  soul.  I  rehearsed  the  story  of  our 
Saviour's  miraculous  birth  and  vicarious  sacrifice  ;  then 
my  thoughts  reverted  to  the  inspiration  of  genius, 
which  can  give  to  canvas  a  living  voice.  All  at  once, 
under  an  influence  for  which  I  could  not  account,  my 
gaze  wandered  for  a  moment — it  rested  on  a  familiar 
face.  I  started  with  surprise.  The  gentleman  ad- 
vanced, and  said  blandly,  *  Pardon  me,  if  I  intrude  ;  I, 
too,  am  an  admirer  of  this  unrivalled  creation.' 

"  The  time  for  which  I  had  so  long  hoped  had  come. 
I  was  not  disconcerted,  though  I  knew  I  was  in  the 
presence  of  superior  excellence  ;  there  was  that  in  his 
manner  that  put  me  at  ease,  and  made  me  forget  that 
we  were  strangers.     In  the  conversation  that  ensued,  I 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  45 

was  astounded  by  the  wealth  of  intellect  evolved,  and 
charmed  with  the  golden  threads  of  pity  that  bright- 
ened his  every  thought,  and  seemed  interwoven  with 
his  very  being.  I  felt  as  if  I  had  been  in  the  atmos- 
phere of  a  purer  world.  Ideas  dormant  in  my  own 
mind  had  been  awakened ;  new  imagery  created — yet 
without  effort  on  either  part ;  his  thoughts  were  bright 
as  sunbeams,  revivifying  and  strengthening.  I  realized 
that  there  was  a  goal  to  be  attained  beyond  the  gratifi- 
cation of  self  and  the  eclat  of  society.  My  friends 
rallied  me  on  my  new  conquest. 

"'Ah!'  said  Amelia,  archly,  'when  one  steals  away 
from  one's  party,  there  is  a  stronger  attraction  than 
the  admiration  of  genius.  Is  it  not  so,  dear  Lucy.-*' 
I  was  too  much  abstracted  to  talk. 

"'See,'  said  Harry,  laughing,  'the  love-dream  is 
upon  her — the  blind  god  has  touched  her  heart.' 

"  I  was  too  much  provoked  to  join  their  badinage. 
The  conversation  had  been  too  suggestive,  and  I  wanted 
to  analyze  the  feelings  inspired.  Again  we  were  under 
the  same  roof.  Did  I  love  him  ?  Yes ;  but  it  was  not 
for  his  noble  physique,  his  refined  taste,  or  elegant  man- 
ners. I  loved  his  soul,  whose  radiance  shone  upon 
mine,  whose  noble  aspirations  prompted  to  deeds  more 
glorious  than  the  achievements  of  the  world's  grandest 
hero ;  for  they  awoke,  in  hearts  wrapped  in  the  erebus 
of  despair,  the  exquisite  music  of  grateful  joy. 


46  A    CLUSTER    OF   ROSES. 

"  My  father  invited  Mr.  Dill  to  make  one  of  our 
party  whenever  it  should  suit  his  convenience  or  in- 
clination. We  never  let  an  opportunity  for  converse 
pass  unimproved,  for  my  soul  received  sustenance 
from  his.  Did  his  soul  receive  aught  from  mine  ? 
This  was  the  question  I  propounded  to  myself,  and  I 
could  not  but  feel  that  there  was  a  reciprocity  of 
benefit  according  to  the  requirements  of  each. 

*'  Our  friends  allowed  our  rambles  in  each  other's 
company  to  pass  without  observation,  for  they  soon 
found  that  teasing  caused  no  embarrassment.  We 
thought  of  nothing  beyond  this  sweet  intercourse ;  we 
knew  our  love  to  be  reciprocal,  though  no  word  of  love 
had  yet  been  spoken.  Occasionally  we  used  to  meet 
in  the  breakfast-room,  before  our  party  came  down, 
and  watched  the  boats  as  they  glided  over  the  river, 
or  opened  the  glass  doors  to  inhale  the  perfumes  of 
spring. 

"  I  was  awakened  from  this  happy  dream  one  day  by 
words  of  my  father,  which  jarred  painfully  on  my  ear. 
*  It  is  time,'  said  he,  '  that  we  resume  our  travels.  We 
will  spend  the  summer  in  Wales  and  Scotland,  and 
visit,  if  you  wish,  the  Isle  of  Wight;  then  go  to  Paris 
and  prepare  for  our  return  home.* 

"  Must  the  dream  dissolve  ?  No ;  my  father  had 
sketched  his  plans,  but  we  might  yet  be  together. 
That  evening  we  walked  out.     The  moon  was  riding 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  47 

through  the  heavens,  sparkling  on  the  waters,  tinting 
vineyards,  hills,  and  valleys-  with  its  radiance,  but  its 
beams  were  eclipsed  by  the  light  of  soul-love  which 
shone  so  brightly  that  the  darkest  night  would  have 
been  beautiful  to  me. 

" '  Do  you  know,'  said  I,  '  that  we  leave  Dresden  very 
soon  ? ' 

"  '  Yes,  but  we  need  not  part,'  was  the  reply.  *  Soul 
speaks  to  soul,  though  ocean  roll  between  ;  the  sever- 
ance of  the  visible  only  unites  more  strongly  the  in- 
visible; yet  I  would  have  you  always  near  me.' 

"* Would  you  indeed  miss  me,  then.''  Would  not 
the  mutual  love  that  animates  our  souls  compensate 
for  my  absence  ? ' 

"'That,  indeed,  is  a  wealth  of  comfort;  but  your 
actual  presence,  dear  Lucy,  would  be  a  joy  beyond  the 
power  of  worlds  to  impart.  I  need  the  voice  whose 
tones  are  potent  to  heal  the  most  aggravated  wounds. 
I  need  that  smile  whose  sweetness  is  the  solace  of  life's 
darkest  hours.  Your  approval  will  be  the  highest  re- 
ward of  my  actions.' 

"  *  But  I  am  so  inefficient,  so  insignificant,  in  com- 
parison with  you.     If  I  could  be  a  help  to  you,  then  ' — 

" '  Then,  little  flower  of  humility,  dismiss  your  fears; 
you  will  be  more  to  me  than  I  can  now  realize.  Then ' — 
He  could  not  finish  the  sentence.  The  soul  was  mir- 
rored in  the  eye.     I  felt  the  palpitation  of  his  heart, 


48  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

and  I  knew  that  for  both  there  was  one  path  to  tread, 
one  life-work  to  do,  one  goal  to  be  attained. 

"  *  See,  dear,'  at  length  he  said,  '  God's  lamps  are 
lighted  in  the  sky ;  our  gracious  Saviour  smiles  upon 
us.  Let  us  kneel  down  here  and  consecrate  our  new 
love  to  his  glory,  praying  him  to  make  us  faithful 
laborers  in  his  Father's  field.' 

"  In  our  case  the  old  adage  was  not  verified,  for  no 
obstacle  was  thrown  in  the  way  of  our  true  love's 
course.  My  father  listened  with  a  propitious  ear  to 
George's  petition. 

"  '  So,  so,  my  daughter,'  he  said,  tenderly  caressing 
me,  '  you  are  getting  tired  of  this  poor  old  man,  and 
you  have  found  a  new  companion.' 

" '  No,  no,  dearest  father,'  I  said,  while  tears  welled 
up  in  my  eyes,  '  we  will  never,  never  live  apart.  But 
indeed  I  could  not  help  loving  him.' 

" '  And  why  should  you  not  love  him,  my  child } 
You  are  but  fulfilling  your  woman's  destiny.  I  knew 
my  idol,  my  only  treasure,  would  find  herself  a  mate, 
and  I  trembled  lest  her  young  and  unsuspecting  heart 
might  be  beguiled  into  an  unfortunate  attachment. 
Now,  thank  God,  my  fears  are  at  an  end.  I  do  not 
believe  in  protracted  engagements.  I  have  schooled 
my  heart  to  resign  you  ;  so  at  as  early  a  period  as  pos- 
sible let  the  union  be  consummated.     Your  lives  will 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  49 

then  grow  into  each  other,  and  your  thoughts  and  feel- 
ings will  assimilate.' 

"We  were  a  happy  two,  for  George  adapted  his 
arrangements  to  ours.  Nestled  among  the  mountains 
in  a  romantic  district  of  North  Wales  lies  the  village  of 
Bettws-y-Ceod,  where  we  found  that  retirement  so  con- 
genial to  our  feelings.  We  were  all  in  all  to  each 
other,  and  we  wished  to  live  in  each  other's  love, 
though  we  knew  that  duty  would  ere  long  call  us  to  a 
wider  sphere. 

"  One  day,  when  the  dappled  morn  irradiated  the 
sky  and  the  sun's  glow  rested  on  the  adjacent  heights, 
wooed  by  the  picturesque  beauty  that  met  our  gaze  on 
every  side,  we  walked  out  together.  As  we  stood  on 
the  stone  brid-ge  that  spanned  the  river,  we  looked  up 
at  the  everlasting  hills  and  adored  their  great  Creator  ; 
we  looked  down  at  the  river  rolling  over  the  rocks,  and 
remembered  that  the  Almighty  God,  of  whose  infin- 
itude man's  finite  intellect  can  form  but  a  faint  concep- 
tion, had  permitted  his  only  Son,  the  partner  of  his 
glory,  to  die,  that  our  sin-polluted  souls  might  be  made 
pure  as  the  crystal  drops  that  sparkled  there  and  bright 
as  the  sun's  radiance  at  noon-day.  With  hearts  aglow 
with  gratitude  we  directed  our  steps  to  the  waterfall. 
George  spread  his  shawl  on  a  rock,  and  asked  me  to 
rest  while  he  made  a  communication. 

" '  Though  I  know  it  will  not  be  unfavorably  received,' 


50  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

he  said,  '  yet  even  were  it  otherwise  I  should  be  obliged 
to  make  it,  for  our  once  secret  thoughts  are  now  the 
property  of  both.'  He  proceeded  to  tell  me  of  Henry's 
triumphant  departure,  and  how,  in  the  awful  presence 
of  death,  he  had  promised  to  give  the  fourth  of  his  in- 
come for  the  promotion  of  missionary  effort  and  the 
holiest  purposes  of  life ;  how  wonderfully  God  had 
prospered  his  every  business  transaction,  and  how  the 
observance  of  that  vow  had  ever  since  been  a  source 
of  unspeakable  comfort. 

"  *  It  was  the  radiance  which  encircled  your  benevo- 
lent actions,'  I  broke  in,  'that  first  made  my  heart  so 
desirous  to  know  you.' 

"  '  You  do  not  object,  then  ?'  he  asked. 

"'Oh  no,  I  have  enough  for  both,'  was  my  reply. 
'  I  only  wish  I  could  more  worthily  second  your  noble 
efforts.  * 

"'The  holiest  works  of  philanthropic  love,'  he  re- 
plied, 'have  been  pioneered  by  woman.  It  is  her  mis- 
sion to  speak  words  of  comfort  where  the  voice  of  man 
can  never  penetrate.  Quickened  by  the  love  of  God, 
your  weakness  is  strength;  from  your  life  mine  will 
garner  sweetness.' 

"  The  following  morning  my  father  was  per- 
suaded by  George  to  accept  the  support  of  his  arm 
and  ascend  a  neighboring  hill,  from  whose  top  a  mag- 
nificent view  was  obtained.     He   sat  down  to  rest  on 


A    CI  USTER   OF    ROSES.  61 

a  fallen  tree,  near  an  artist  who  was  sketching  there. 

"  'I  have  a  surprise  for  you,'  I  said,  as  we  clambered 
over  the  rocks.  'The  mother  of  Henry  Black  once 
saved  my  life.  Yes,  she  nursed  me  through  a  dan- 
gerous illness  when  I  was  a  child,  and  I  must  have  suc- 
cumbed to  the  violence  of  disease  but  for  her  motherly 
tenderness.' 

"  *  And  the  blessing  of  God — do  not  forget  to  add 
that,  dear  Lucy.' 

" '  It  was  a  momentary  forgetfulness ;  but  I  thank  you 
for  the  reminder.  You  remember  the  gold  cross  you 
gave  me  when  you  told  me  of  your  free-will  offering  to 
the  Lord;  my  father  recognized  it  by  the  pearl  in  the 
centre ;  it  was  my  mother's.  A  few  days  before  her 
death  she'  gave  it  to  her  favorite  maid  Emma.  "  My 
child,'  she  said,  'you  may  have  to  suffer  wrong,  you  may 
even  be  cruelly  treated,  and  there  may  be  no  human 
hand  to  avert  the  evil.  In  that  hour  of  trial  hold  this 
cross  before  you,  and  remember  that  your  Saviour  suf- 
fered wrongs  a  thousand  times  more  aggravated ;  that 
he  who  was  supreme  in  Heaven  and  earth  became  the 
poorest  of  the  poor,  that  you  might  be  a  star  in  his 
Father's  kingdom.  As  you  are  like  him  in  poverty  and 
hardship,  pray  to  be  like  him  in  the  patient  endurance 
of  suffering.  Should  you  be  weary  of  life  because  hope 
is  dead,  remember  how  his  hands  and  feet  were  nailed 
to  the  wood,  how  his  precious  life-drops  crimsoned 


52  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

the  ground  ;  then  will  your  burden  be  lightened.  You 
cannot  read  the  Bible;  I  wish  you  could;  but  you  have 
committed  its  precepts  to  memory.  You  know  where 
to  seek  for  the  waters  of  life.  But  the  cross  is  a  volume 
in  itself;  it  is  suggestive  of  our  Lord's  triumph  over 
the  wiles  of  the  tempter,  of  the  love  that  surpasses  our 
comprehension  in  the  sacrifice  of  redemption,  of  the 
rapture  of  resurrection,  of  the  blessedness  of  joy  for- 
ever." My  mother's  softly-uttered  wish  was  carried 
out  by  our  good  doctor,  who  spent  much  of  his  time 
with  us  and  took  the  opportunity  when  Emma  was 
cleaning  his  room  to  teach  her  to  read.  You  remem- 
ber the  man  with  a  pleasant  smile  and  a  merry  twinkle 
in  his  eye  whom  we  met  at  Munich  ? ' 

" '  Yes ;  I  thought  him  the  personification  of  good 
nature  and  excellence.' 

"'He  was  Emma's  teacher.  It  was  he  that  brought 
Henry  to  your  father.  The  morning  on  which  Henry 
left  us,  his  mother  put  the  cross  around  his  neck. 
"  This  is  the  seal  of  your  baptism,"  she  said,  "  the 
symbol  of  your  soldiership  in  the  army  of  your  Lord. 
Should  you  be  tempted  to  go  astray,  look  upon  it  and 
remember  that  you  have  promised  to  follow  Jesus, 
heeding  neither  the  frowns  nor  the  smiles  of  the 
world.'" 

"  *  It  was  Henry's  last  act,'  said  George,  as  I  ceased 
to  speak,  'to  place  this  cross  in  my  hands.      "I  wish 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  53 

you  to  have  it,"  he  said,  "for  your  instructions  per- 
fected the  earlier  lessons  of  .my  mother.  Belle  wishes 
it  too."  "Yes,  massa  Dill,"  said  Belle,  "I  don't  need 
de  cross,  kase  I  have  Jesus  himself  in  my  heart  all  de 
time ;  when  I  lies  down,  and  when  I  gets  up,  and  when 
I's  at  de  wash-tub,  he's  dare,  warming  my  heart  with 
his  great  big  love.  Dis  heart  is  very  sore  now,  but  I 
knows  he  heal  it  by-and-by.  De  cross  is  good,  but 
himself  is  better — and  I  want  you  to  have  it,  kase 
Henry  loves  you  so.'" 

"  Returning  to  my  father's  side,  we  found  the  artist's 
portfolio  open  on  his  knee,  and  his  eyes  riveted  on  a 
picture.  'Lucy,'  said  he,  with  tones  tremulous  with 
emotion,  'let  me  show  you  your  mother  just  as  she  was 
when  I  first  saw  her,  sitting  under  an  oak  with  her  little 
ones  grouped  about  her ;  for  she  was  a  school-teacher, 
and  supported  a  maiden  aunt  who  for  many  years  had 
been  confined  to  her  room  with  a  spinal  affection. 
Unperceived  I  approached,  and  listened  to  her  sweetly- 
modulated  voice  as  she  read  to  her  charge  a  story  de- 
scriptive of  nature  and  full  of  pure  child-thought. 
Whenever  a  flower  or  shrub  was  named,  if  it  was  not 
too  far  away,  one  was  sent  to  bring  it,  that  all  might 
see  it.  It  was  her  habit  thus  to  spend  an  hour  on 
every  bright  summer's  day,  for  she  believed  that  the 
body  might  receive  elasticity  and  vigor  while  the  mind 
was  being  fed  from  the  great  store-house  of  knowledge. 


54  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

So  day  by  day  they  watched  the  development  of  na- 
ture; so  day  by  day  mind  and  body  were  exercised, 
while  they  themselves  were  in  receipt  of  the  sweetest 
pleasures  of  an  innocent  childhood. 

"'See  that  little  gate  overgrown  with  ivy;  it  leads 
to  the  cottage  where  your  mother  cheered  her  invalid 
aunt.  The  porch  is  wreathed  with  jessamine  and 
honeysuckle;  most  of  the  flowers  on  either  side  were 
planted  by  her  own  dear  hand.  She  was  watering 
them,  the  second  time  I  saw  her;  the  sun  had  just 
gone  down,  and  the  moon  was  climbing  the  distant 
hills.  Having  obtained  an  introduction  through  the 
parish  priest,  who  was  a  college  mate  of  mine,  I  suc- 
ceeded in  winning  your  mother's  love,  but  duty  did 
not  yield  to  the  prayer  of  affection,  though  her  own 
heart  pleaded  powerfully  for  its  acceptance.  This  cot- 
tage had  been  the  life-home  of  her  aged  relative,  whose 
few  remaining  days  she  would  not  darken  by  leaving 
it;  so  I  waited,  impatiently  waited  four  long  inevitable 
years,  and  there  at  the  left  of  the  cottage  is  the  church 
where  my  life  was  finally  crowned  with  happiness.' 

"  At  a  gesture  from  my  father  the  artist  approached 
and  was  introduced.  When,  after  a  few  moments'  con- 
versation, he  had  retired,  my  father  said :  *  Mr.  Clare's 
father,  who  is  staying  at  Lanrush,  married  us  and 
baptized  you ;  your  hearts  are  already  wed — why 
should  you  not    now    be  united    by  the  most    sacred 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  55 

of  ties  ?  For  the  ostentation  and  glitter  of  a  fashion- 
able wedding,  I  know  you,  my  daughter,  have  no 
desire.' 

'' '  No,  indeed,  father ;  it  would  be  an  incubus  on  the 
brightness  and  freedom  of  our  happy  present.' 

"And  so  when  June  was  extending  the  hand  of  wel- 
come to  her  sister  July,  we  were  married.  Only  the 
family  with  whom  the  Clares  were  staying  were  present. 
A  simple  white  dress,  a  wreath  of  wild  flowers,  and  a 
veil,  composed  my  bridal  attire ;  we  were  too  happy  in 
ourselves  to  care  for  externals. 

"Mr.  Clare  and  his  son  designed  passing  a  few  days 
at  Grasmere,  once  the  residence  of  Wordsworth, 
Coleridge,  and  Southey.  As  it  was  classic  ground,  we 
accepted  with  pleasure  their  invitation  to  accompany 
them.  I  heard  the  voice  of  Mr.  Clare  in  the  church 
whose  walls  for  nine  hundred  years  had  reverberated 
with  the  songs  of  praise.  I  stood  by  the  poet's  grave 
in  the  place  where  the  weary  pilgrims  of  earth  find 
rest.  The  river  rolling  through  it  was  suggestive  of 
the  waters  of  life  that  sparkle  forever  in  the  Paradise 
of  God.  We  left  the  hallowed  spot,  invigorated  to 
tread  with  firm  step  the  rough  path  of  duty  ;  for  the 
path  of  duty  is  the  narrow  path,  and  though  love  may 
smooth  and  beautify  it,  yet  the  briars  are  there,  and 
sometimes  the  thick  darkness.  The  grand  and  pic- 
turesque scenery  that  envir^Dns  the  place,  fraught  with 


56  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

SO  many  pleasant  associations,  called  forth  the  tribute 
of  our  profoundest  admiration. 

"  A  few  evenings  before  our  departure,  the  tempta- 
tion to  go  alone  on  the  river  was  irresistible.  The 
nightingale  was  bidding  farewell  to  the  day  in  tones  so 
sadhy  sweet  as  to  thrill  our  hearts  with  tenderest 
emotions. 

"  'Why  are  you  silent,  George  ? '  I  asked. 

"  *  I  have  been  thinking  of  the  poor,'  was  his  reply. 
*  No,  children  of  penury  and  suffering,  though  you  are 
called  to  tread  the  stormy  ways  of  life  with  feet  bruised 
and  bleeding,  though  on  your  night  of  destitution  with 
its  Cimmerian  gloom  the  rainbow  hues  of  sympathy 
have  never  shone,  yet  do  not  despair ;  for  among  the 
poorest  was  Jesus  born.  As  the  night-blooming  cereus 
is  fragrant  in  the  deepest  darkness,  so  may  your  lives 
encompassed  with  want  and  woe  be  fragrant,  for  the 
love  of  God  is  the  soul's  perfume.  Some  of  the  sweet- 
est flowers  grow  lowliest,  yet  the  breezes  above  them 
are  laden  with  their  fragrance.  There  is  not  one  of 
God's  creatures  too  humble  to  bless  another,  if  Jesus 
has  but  found  an  entrance  into  his  heart.' 

"'Our  own  lives  are  a  verification  of  your  words,'  I 
replied,  'for  is  it  not  to  the  perfume  of  an  humble 
Christian  life  that  we  owe  the  fullness  of  our  present 
joy  ? ' 

"  As  on  that  night  when  our  senses  were  ravished 


A    CLUSTER   OF    ROSES.  67 

with  beauty  and  harmony,  so  through  life  the  love- 
light  that  radiated  from  soul  to  soul  was  its  music  and 
its  brightness.  We  walked  side  by  side  down  the 
highway  of  time — we  had  our  shadows  and  even  our 
eclipses ;  but  mutual  love  was  our  haven  of  rest.  We 
worked  together,  hand  strengthening  hand,  and  heart 
sustaining  heart. 

"  George  has  gone  to  his  reward.  Only  the  last  day 
will  reveal  the  blessings  conferred  on  the  human  race 
by  his  self-denying  labors  of  love.  He  has  gone — yet 
he  does  not  seem  so  very  far  away.  In  the  still  dark 
night  my  inmost  being  thrills  to  the  sound  of  his  dear 
familiar  voice.     So  I  am  waiting — only  waiting." 


Chapter    VI. 

The  rain  has  been  pouring  all  day  long.  Johnny  is 
fourteen  years  old;  he  has  just  come  in  from  school. 
]\^s.  Payson  is  in  the  cozy  breakfast  room;  a  bright 
fire  is  burning  in  the  grate,  and  she  is  reading  aloud  to 
one  who  cannot  see  the  firelight's  glow  or  mark  the 
shadows  dancing  on  the  wall.  They  have  both  been 
weeping,  for  the  pathetic  story  is  a  faithful  portrait  of 
the  sufferings  of  real  life. 

In  the  hush  voices  are  heard ;  the  head  of  the  house 
enters,  followed  by  a  stalwart  sailor,  whose  gray  locks 


58  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

entitle  him  to  respect.  His  eyes  are  suffused  with 
moisture,  but  you  know  by  the  gleam  of  joy  that  lights 
up  his  weather-beaten  features  that  sorrow  has  no  place 
there.     The  two  most  interested  quickly  follow. 

"  Oh !  thank  de  Lord,  thank  de  Lord  !  "  exclaimed 
Belle,  clapping  her  hands  and  frisking  about  in  the  ex- 
cess of  her  joy.  "  Honey,  it  is  de  good  Lord  himself 
that  brought  your  father  here.  Oh !  it  is  de  blessedest 
time  I  ever  did  see  !  " 

The  sailor  hugged  his  new-found  child  close  to  his 
heart ;  his  ears  drank  in  for  the  first  time  the  music  of 
those  tender  words,  "  my  father." 

"  Oh,  Belle  !  Belle  !  "  he  exclaimed,  shaking  again 
and  again  the  hand  of  the  poor  old  woman.  "  What 
shall  I  say.^     I  can  never  reward  you,  for  I  am  poor." 

"  Johnny  is  de  best  boy  in  all  de  world,  and  dat's 
enough,"  said  Belle.  "  Dat  makes  dis  poor  ole  heart 
run  over  with  joy." 

"  God  bless  you.  Belle  !  "  cried  the  sailor.  "  God 
bless  you !  you  have  been  my  boy's  saviour." 

"  No,  I's  done  nothing  to  be  thanked  for;  massa  and 
missus,  they's  done  it  all." 

"  Mr.  Payson,  you  and  your  wife  have  been  parents 
to  my  motherless  boy.     What  can  I  do  to  repay  you.'^  " 

"  If  Johnny  turns  out  to  be  a  good  man,  we  are  more 
than  repaid,"  replied  Mr.  Payson.  Then  followed  the 
narration  with  which  the  reader  is  already  acquainted. 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  59 

The  glad  tidings  soon  reached  Clara  and  Eliza,  who 
hastened  to  be  present  at  the  joyful  meeting,  for  Johnny 
had  been  the  object  of  their  tenderest  sympathies,  their 
unwearied  care.  We  gathered  around  the  family  altar 
that  night  with  hearts  glowing  with  gratitude  to  the 
gracious  God,  the  leadings  of  whose  love  had  brought 
about  this  blessed  reunion. 

After  a  time  Johnny's  father  went  down  once  more 
to  his  ocean  home,  satisfied  that  his  boy  had  been  better 
cared  for,  better  instructed,  than  he  could  have  been 
even  had  his  mother  lived;  for  the  children  of  the 
poor,  huddled  together  in  tenement-houses,  are  exposed 
to  bad  influences  which  their  parents  may  deplore  but 
cannot  wholly  prevent.  Belle  had  the  comfort  of  seeing 
her  foster-child  usefully  employed,  loved,  and  respected. 
She  lived  to  a  great  age.  In  her  last  years,  the  super- 
stitions imbibed  in  her  early  life  came  back  to  her,  and 
exercised  an  influence  over  her  mind ;  but  above  them 
shone  the  radiant  beams  of  the  sun  of  righteousness, 
for  one  whom  she  had  humbly  tried  to  serve  on  earth 
has,  we  believe,  prepared  for  her  a  mansion  in  his 
Father's  house  within  the  pearly  gates.  Her  talent 
was  not  laid  up  in  a  napkin,  and  her  good  deed  may 
shine  far  down  the  waste  of  time,  for  Johnny  is  faithful 
to  the  teachings  of  his  childhood  and  strives  to  imitate 
the  works  of  his  Divine  Master. 

How  strange,  I  think  I  hear  the  reader  exclaim,  not 


60  A   CLUSTER   OF    ROSES. 

to  marry  Johnny !  What  an  unsatisfactory  story ! 
Patience,  gentle  reader,  and  I  will  tell  you  a  secret — 
a  secret  between  you  and  me.  Johnny  is  a  real  person, 
and  if  I  were  to  choose  for  him  a  pretty  blue-eyed 
blonde,  he  might  prefer  a  dark-eyed  brunette,  and  vice 
versa  ■  s')  I  think  I  might  better  yield  the  point  grace- 
fully and  allow  him  to  select  for  himself,  for  if  I  am 
not  mistaken  that's  what  the  gentlemen  like  best  to  do. 

I  know  it  is  not  in  human  nature  to  be  free  from 
faults ;  and  if  I  have  not  painted  its  darker  phases,  it  is 
because  the  light  shines  inward  and  in  its  refulgence 
the  darkness  is  lost.  The  thoughts  that  come  to  me 
in  my  blindness  are  fragrant  with  peace  and  rich  with 
consolation  ;  and  they  come  to  me  in  my  weariness  and 
loneliness  like  angel  visitants  from  the  dear  good  Lord 
himself.  They  came  to  me  when  suffering  wrong  for 
doing  right ;  they  brought  me  rest ;  they  stayed  my 
feet  more  firmly  on  the  Rock  of  Ages. 

On  the  stage  of  life  Johnny  is  acting  nobly  the  part 
assigned  him  by  his  Creator.  God  has  wonderfully  en- 
larged the  bounds  of  his  church.  It  is  the  focus  toward 
which  the  rays  of  Christian  charity  and  philanthropic 
love  converge  in  the  village  of  Scarsdale.  The  key  is 
kept  in  a  cleft  of  the  wall.  Whoever  first  reaches  the 
door  on  the  Lord's  Day  rings  the  bell ;  then  the  great 
heart  of  the  community  thrills  to  its  sound,  and  quick 
steps  answer  its  vibrations. 


A   CLUSTER   0I-*    ROSES.  61 

Doubtless  God  dwells  in  the  hearts  of  his  children 
and  answers  their  silent  prayers  ;  yet  is  it  not  an  inex- 
pressible comfort  to  carry  the  heart  surcharged  with  its 
own  peculiar  sorrow  and  weary  of  its  weight  of  sin, 
when  the  spirit  would  cry  out  in  its  agony,  into  the 
consecrated  temple  of  the  Lord,  cheered  by  the  light 
of  his  blessed  presence — where  no  eye  but  God's  can 
see,  where  no  ear  but  God's  can  hear — where  the  soul 
has  so  often  been  refreshed  with  the  manna  of  a 
Saviour's  love — there  to  drink  in  fresh  draughts  of  peace 
and  even  rapture  from  the  never-failing  fount  of  life  ? 

Our  divine  Exemplar,  when  he  was  among  us,  taught 
us  the  sacredness  of  the  house  dedicated  to  his  Father's 
worship.  It  is  sweet  to  retire  from  the  walks  of  busy 
life  into  the  hallowed  precincts  where  dwells  the  Lord, 
great  and  gracious,  mighty  and  merciful.  God  smiled 
upon  his  church,  and  it  made  glad  the  heart  of  one 
who  loved  to  worship  under  its  shadow  ;  and  thus  her 
thoughts  found  utterance  : — 

L 

A  beauteous  church  attractive  stood, 

And  opened  wide  its  door; 
A  little  flock  were  gathered  there, — 

Among  them  God's  own  poor. 

IL 

The  sunbeams  rested  on  its  dome, 
The  flowers  perfumed  the  air ; 

3 


6S  A    Ct.UStRR   OF    kO^iK^. 

The  smile  of  morn,  the  tear  of  eve, 
Lay  on  that  house  of  prayer. 

III. 
A  little  flock,  an  humble  band, 

Came  duly  there  to  bring 
The  incense  of  their  grateful  hearts. 

To  mount  on  prayer's  swift  wing; 

IV. 

To  taste  the  manna  of  his  love, 
Our  Ciod,  who  changeth  not; 

To  learn  from  Christ,  the  lowly  one, 
Contentment  with  their  lot. 


The  stricken  ones  bowed  down  with  grief. 

Children  of  want  and  care. 
The  agonized  found  sweet  relief — 

Their  Lord  was  with  them  there. 

VL 

Obedient  to  the  church's  call, 

Fresh  numbers  yearly  came 
To  kneel  within  her  sacred  courts. 

To  laud  Jehovah's  name. 

VIL 

Now,  duly  on  each  Sabbath  morn, 

As  sounds  the  village  bell, 
Floats  out  upon  the  li(iuid  air 

The  organ's  joyous  swell. 


A   CLUSTER   OP   ROSES.  63 

VIII. 

For  crowds  now  gather  where  before 

A  few  were  wont  to  come; 
The  work  is  God's, — Jesus  will  lead 

Pastor  and  people  home. 

IX. 

And  nestling  'neath  the  church's  wing, 

A  little  chapel  lies, 
Like  a  sweet  infant,  looking  up 

To  greet  its  mother's  eyes. 

X. 

Oh  !  never  fear  to  raise  the  cross, 

Though  ye  be  poor  and  few. 
In  faith  begin;  from  time  to  time, 

God  will  your  strength  renew. 

XI. 

And  ye  may  know  the  blessed  peace 

Jesus  alone  can  give; 
Hear  his  dear  lips  pronounce  the  words, 

"Come  thou  with  me  and  live." 


64  A   CLUSTER   Ot^   ROSES. 


J^tt  ^rljjatl  from  m^  futtrnHl 

JULY  14,  18G3. 

The  planks  are  torn  up.  The  supply  of  milk  is  cut 
off.  The  bells  are  ringing,  but  the  firemen  dare  not 
put  out  the  fires.  I  stay  in  my  room  alone,  for  1  am 
not  a  favored  and  invited  guest.  I  am  here  because  I 
have  no  home,  and  I  must  go  where  God's  hand  is 
leading  me.  Now  and  then  I  open  the  slats  just  a  very 
little,  to  catch  one  breath  of  air.  I  hear  them  packing 
up  their  things,  preparing  for  the  worst;  but  I  must 
lose  all;  my  trunk  is  in  the  attic.  Should  the  house  be 
attacked,  I  would  not  have  them  think  of  me;  in  that 
fearful  hour  I  would  not  trouble  those  whose  kindness 
shelters  me.  I  will  raise  no  voice;  I  will  lift  no  cry; 
but  I  will  go  silently  down  stairs.  Shall  I  find  one 
hand  to  help,  one  heart  to  pity,  one  breast  in  which  all 
of  human  tenderness  has  not  died  out.^  I  know  not; 
but  this  I  know — God  rules,  and  he  who  shut  the  lions' 
mouths  can  guard  his  helpless  child  as  well.  How  still 
it  is!  Were  it  not  that  the  cars  are  stopped  and  the 
streets  deserted,  I  might  almost  forget  the  inauguration 
of  the  reign  of  terror. 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  65 

Just  then  I  heard  the  horrid  chibs  of  the  mob.  I 
heard  them  breaking  in  the  doors  of  a  house  in  the  rear. 
Their  oaths  and  imprecations  made  me  tremble,  yet  I 
thought  I  had  faith. 

"Burn  up  !   Burn  up  !  "  was  the  cry. 

"Father,  dear  Father,  put  out  the  lire,"  I  prayed. 

Men,  women,  and  children,  raged  for  violence  and 
plunder.  "  Burn  up  !  Burn  up  !  "  and  with  those  ter- 
rible words  my  prayer  went  up — "  O  Father,  dear  Fa- 
ther, put  it  out !  " 

I  went  down  stairs  and  found  my  friends  in  the 
greatest  consternation.  Some  of  the  family  were  pre- 
paring for  immediate  flight.     Mrs. was  powerless 

with  terror. 

"  C,   what  will  you   do  if  they  come   here  ? "  said 

Mr. .     "We  expect  them  every ,hour.     We  would 

do  all  we  could  for  you,  but  we  have  daughters  of  our 
own." 

"  Do  not  think  of  me — I  will  trust  in  Providence," 
was  my  reply. 

"  Yes,  but  Providence  helps  those  who  help  them- 
selves." 

"  Providence  knows  I  have  done  all  I  can,"  said  I. 
"  I  will  tell  the  rioters  I  am  blind." 

"  Poor  chance  that  !  They  are  so  blind  with  fury 
they  know  not  what  they  do." 

I  went  into  the  back  parlor.     The  Psalmist  has  said, 


66  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

"  The  waves  of  the  sea  are  mighty  and  rage  horribly;  " 
but  what  were  they  in  comparison  with  the  madness  of 
the  infuriated  mob?  There  was  a  constant  roar. 
Mirrors  and  pictures  were  dashed  out  of  the  windows ; 
all  that  art  could  do  to  beautify  and  make  home  at- 
tractive was  being  ruthlessly  destroyed.  While  the 
work  of  destruction  was  proceeding,  I  knelt  down  and 
told  Jesus  how  homeless,  how  helpless,  how  unpro- 
tected I  was.  I  told  him  I  had  not  a  claim  on  any 
one;  I  poured  all  my  woe  into  his  sympathizing  ear. 
Tears  flowed  too  fast  for  words.  He  saw  me  in  my 
desolation.  Presently,  there  came  into  my  soul  a  peace 
so  heavenly  that  words  are  powerless  to  portray  it.  All 
my  anguish  was  lost  in  its  sweetness;  the  arm  that  was 
around  me  was  so  strong.  Oh  !  I  wondered  how  in  all 
my  life  I  ever  could  have  distrusted  God.  It  was  rest 
— it  was  refreshment — to  lean  on  Jesus  then ;  it  was 
like  falling  asleep  on  my  mother's  breast — only  the 
Saviour's  love  surpasses  that  of  a  mother. 

The  people  still  raged  like  wild  beasts,  but  I  went  up 
stairs  and  talked  calmly  with  my  friends.  I  did  not 
fear  to  be  with  them  then,  for  I  was  resting  on  the  rock 
Christ  Jesus.  I  knew  if  I  lived  until  to-morrow  a 
wearisome  journey  was  before  me;  I  could  but  put  my 
trust  in  God,  and  went  to  sleep. 

July  15th. — I  had  slept  through  danger,  bloodshed, 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  67 

and  conflagration.  I  was  strengthened.  I  had  found 
that  which  the  world  could  neither  give  nor  take  away. 
The  family  had  decided  to  remain  in  their  house,  but 
their  daughters  were  to  go  to  the  country;  I  was  bound 
for  the  far  West.  We  took  a  carriage,  E.  and  I,  with 
the  hope  of  reaching  Courtland  Street. 

When  we  reached  the  place,  E.  left  me  for  a  few 
moments,  to  get  a  pass  for  me  up  the  river.  In  that 
wild  tumultuous  throng  I  stood  alone  on  the  wharf, 
with  vehicles  rushing  and  rumbling  around  me.  I  felt 
a  sense  of  insecurity,  and  yet  in  my  helplessness  I  durst 
not  move.  I  reached  out  my  hands,  but  touched 
nothing.  Just  at  this  moment  a  whisper  came ;  I  did 
not  need  eyes  then — I  went  quickly.  Scarcely  had  I 
ascended  the  steps,  clinging  to  the  railing  of  the  boat, 
when  the  hot  breath  of  horses  was  on  my  cheek,  wheels 
splashed  my  dress  with  mud,  and  a  heavily-laden  truck 
dashed  by.  Had  I  hesitated  for  a  single  moment, 
it  would  have  been  too  late. 

In  agitated  tones  I  heard  E.  exclaim  (for  he  had  just 
come  up),  "Don't  be  frightened — hold  fast — don't  be 
afraid !"  Afraid !  how  could  I  be  afraid,  when  my  guar- 
dian angel  was  close  by  me  ? 

"Why  was  she  left  there  ?"  "  Who  put  her  there  ? " 
they  angrily  asked,  and  oaths  mingled  with  the  ques- 
tions. In  that  hot  struggle  for  life  in  flight,  where 
could  a  resting-place  be  found  ? 


68  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

The  boat  was  crowded  almost  beyond  its  capacity. 
Women  foot-sore  and  weary  had  walked  from  the  upper 
part  of  the  city,  for  the  cars  had  ceased  running  ;  and 
many  had  been  obliged  to  carry  their  babies.  Children 
were  crying,  their  feet  blistered  and  bleeding ;  and  all 
were  talking  of  the  heart-sickening  sights  they  had 
seen.  In  that  wild  confusion  and  terrible  crush,  how 
was  I  on  landing  to  get  from  the  boat  to  the  car,  was 
the  question  that  suggested  itself  to  my  anxious  mind, 
as  I  sat  alone  and  unnoticed  in  the  corner  of  a  sofa — 
and  yet  I  was  not  alone,  for  God's  eye  was  upon  me. 
Just  as  my  anxiety  was  resolving  itself  into  prayer,  a 
lady  with  whom  I  had  not  met  for  many  years  came 
up,  made  herself  known,  took  me  on  deck,  and  intro- 
duced me  to  a  gentleman,  who  was  ready  the  next 
morning  to  take  me  to  the  cars. 

I  will  not  weary  the  reader  with  the  details  of  changes 
from  car  to  boat,  from  boat  to  stage.  Suffice  it  to  say 
that  in  each  hour  of  need  one  came — only  one — some- 
times in  most  unexpected  ways — and  often  one  with 
whom  I  had  not  before  spoken.  I  knew  it  was  God's 
hand  that  was  leading  me  along.  "  In  all  thy  ways 
acknowledge  him,  and  he  will  direct  thy  paths." 

Gratitude  to  God  for  his  wonderful  providence  in 
the  preservation  of  my  life,  has  induced  me  to  publish 
this  extract  from  my  journal. 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  69 


]p  famt^t  nf  n  fiki^ts.  Jfoos. 


Chapter    I . 

The  ruddy  hues  of  golden  sunlight  were  fast  melting 
into  the  blue  and  pvirple  of  evening,  and  silvery  clouds, 
in  fantastic  shapes,  were  floating  one  above  another,  as 
if  the  spirits  of  mirth  were  keeping  holiday  in  their  airy 
heights.  It  is  a  fit  hour  for  contemplation,  thought  I, 
when  the  calm  spirit,  free  from  the  turmoil  and  vexa- 
tions of  the  day,  may  gratefully  read  the  glorious  book 
of  nature,  and  hold  sweet  converse  with  its  divine 
Author. 

Thus  soliloquizing,  I  ascended  a  little  hill,  and  seated 
myself  on  a  moss-covered  rock  that  overlooked  a  small 
stream,  which  wound  its  way  through  the  peaceful 
valley.  But  my  attention  was  soon  arrested  by  the 
figure  of  a  person  standing  on  the  margin  of  the  stream. 
He  was  apparently  young,  below  medium  height,  and 
rather  slender.  His  intellectual  brow  bore  the  traces 
of  bitter  grief  and  untimely  care,  and  his  dark  eye 
glowed  with  intense  feeling. 

"Ah!  unfortunate  wretch,"  he  wildly  exclaimed, 
"  where  are  now  the  gossamer  day-dreams  of  ambition 


70  A    CLUSTKR    OF    ROSKS. 

in  which  my  young  spirit  loved  to  indulge,  and  the 
bright  hopes  that  gilded  the  horizon  of  my  future? 
All  blighted  by  one  untimely  blow.  Oh  !  I  could  bear 
the  lot  of  penury  and  disappointment  to  which  I  am 
doomed,  were  it  not  for  my  dearer  self,  my  only  beloved 
sister.  Oh  I  could  I  but  shield  her  from  the  sufferings 
incident  to  such  a  life,  I  could  be  resigned  to  my  fate, 
and  proudly  meet  the  contemptuous  treatment  of  the 
author  of  my  misery.  I  feel  myself  a  man,  and  could 
fearlessly  act  my  part  in  the  world's  arena.  But,  alas! 
I  cannot  shield  the  delicate  flower  committed  to  my 
charge  from  the  cruel  storm.  Heaven  knows,  the  hot 
tears  that  chase  each  other  down  my  cheek  are  not 
selfish." 

Just  then  the  moon,  full-orbed  and  beautiful,  rose, 
and  shed  its  pensive  light  over  the  careworn  features  of 
the  weeping  stranger.  His  extreme  youth,  his  high 
appreciation  of  tlie  intellectual  advantages  so  recently 
lost,  joined  to  the  warmth  and  tenderness  of  his  affec- 
tion for  his  only  sister,  awakened  a  more  than  common 
interest  in  my  mind.  But  his  grief  was  a  sacred  thing, 
and  I  felt  that  I  had  no  right  to  intrude  on  him  at  such 
a  time,  even  though  impelled  by  the  most  generous 
feeling.  I  therefore  took  my  way  quietly  to  my  lodg- 
ings, and  determined,  on  the  ensuing  day,  to  make 
every  effort  to  find  out  the  object  that  had  so  deeply 
engaged  my  feelings  ;  but  those  to  whom  I  addressed 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  71 

myself  seemed  ignorant  of  the  very  existence  of  such  a 
family,  and  I  was  obliged  to  abandon  the  attempt.  At 
three  o'clock,  I  was  seated  in  the  office  of  my  solicitor, 
testing  the  validity  of  a  life-insurance  policy  which  I 
had  just  received.  A  pause  ensued  in  our  conversation, 
when  my  companion,  looking  up  from  a  paper  before 
him,  said  drily:— 

''What  strange  people  there  are  living  in  this  world!  " 

"  Now,  really,  what  could  induce  you  to  make  this 
remark.?"  I  inquired. 

"  I  was  thinking,"  he  replied,  "  of  an  odd  old  gentle- 
man with  whom  I  happened  to  be  slightly  acquainted. 

"  An  old  bachelor  friend  of  mine,  lately  deceased,  had 
two  orphan  nephews  (Clarence  and  Stephen)  entirely 
dependent  on  him  for  support.  These  were  receiving 
a  liberal  education  at  his  expense,  and  he  designed  to 
divide  his  estate,  worth  two  hundred  thousand  dollars, 
between  them.  Mr.  F.  had  been  travelling  for  the  past 
two  years  in  Europe,  and  relied  upon  the  correspondence 
of  an  intimate  friend  for  information  respecting  them. 

"Unfortunately  for  poor  Clarence,  this  gentleman 
was  a  distant  relative  of  Stephen's,  who  used  every  op- 
portunity to  depict  in  glowing  colors  the  amiable  dis- 
position and  high  attainments  of  his  favorite,  and 
deprecated  the  want  of  these  excellences  in  Clarence. 
He  frequently  spoke  of  his  fondness  for  foolishly 
spending  money,  and   even  hinted   at  the   possibility 


72  A    CLUSTER    OF   ROSES. 

of  his  bringing  disgrace  on  his  uncle.  The  old  man  was 
kind-hearted  and  well-meaning,  but  wanting  in  that 
penetration  which  would  enable  another  more  deeply 
read  in  the  mysteries  of  human  nature  to  detect  at  a 
glance  the  false  hues  in  the  portraits  so  adroitly 
sketched.  One  day,  after  reading  one  of  these  com- 
munications, he  felt  that  it  would  be  an  unpardonable 
sin  to  endow  with  wealth  a  youth  so  extravagant  and 
ungrateful  as  Clarence  might  prove.  Accordingly,  he 
bequeathed  the  whole  of  his  fortune  to  Stephen.  I  do 
the  old  gentleman  the  justice  to  believe  that,  had  he 
survived  his  illusion,  he  would  have  amended  this  unfair 
disposition  of  his  property ;  but  the  next  day  he  expired 
of  apoplexy. 

"Clarence  was  taken  from  the  university,  and,  with 
his  only  sister,  exposed  to  all  the  ills  of  poverty,  while 
Stephen  is  surrounded  with  every  luxury  that  wealth 
can  procure." 

"This  is  the  information  I  have  been  seeking  all 
day,"  I  replied.  I  then  related  the  last  night's  occur- 
rence, and  expressed  my  wish  to  aid  this  afflicted  youth 
to  the  utmost  of  my  abilities. 


Chapter    II. 

The  gray  tints  of  twilight  found  me  seated  upon  the 
same  rock  I  had  before  occupied.     The  brother  was 


A    CLUSTER   OF    ROSES.  73 

Standing  upon  the  bank  of  the  stream,  and  with  him 
his  sister,  a  girl  of  twelve  years.  Her  dark  blue  eyes 
were  suffused  with  tears,  as  she  raised  them  to  her 
brother's  face,  and  read  the  wild  and  despairing  ex- 
pression of  his  countenance. 

"Oh!  brother,  dear  brother,  you  frighten  me,"  she 
exclaimed;  "you  are  so  unlike  yourself." 

"  Do  not  say  so,  dearest ;  you  are  the  idol  of  my 
soul." 

"Then  will  you  not  smile  on  me  ? " 

"I  cannot ;  my  heart  is  breaking." 

"What  makes  you  so  sad  ?     I  love  you." 

"We  are  poor  ;  we  are  beggars." 

"Jesus  was  a  poor  man,  the  only  Son  of  God;  and  I 
know  our  Father  in  Heaven  loves  us,  or  he  would  not 
make  us  like  his  Son." 

"  Indulge  the  pleasing  thought,"  he  replied  ;  "but  I 
must  be  revenged  on  the  wretch  who  has  ruined  us." 

"  Oh !  brother,  I  implore  you  by  the  prayers  of  our 
dear  dead  mother — " 

"  Hush,  Ada ;  human  nature  cannot  endure  the 
wrongs  which  I  suffer.  He  must  feel  the  bitterness  of 
my  wrath." 

"Brother,  will  you  grant  me  one  little  favor?"  she 
said,  throwing  her  arms  about  his  neck  and  kissing  him 
affectionately. 

"I  will,  dearest." 


74  A    CLUSTER   OF    ROSES. 

"Come  with  me,  then,  to  our  mother's  grave." 

Thither  I  also  directed  my  steps.  The  eye  of  a 
stranger  is  frequently  pained  by  the  marks  of  neglect 
visible  in  country  church-yards.  Here,  however,  it  was 
not  so.  Beautiful  flowers  were  blooming  around  many 
of  the  grass-covered  graves,  evidently  planted  there  by 
the  friends  and  relatives  of  the  departed,  and  the 
branches  of  the  plane-tree  and  weeping  willow  trembled 
in  the  night-breeze.  In  a  remote  corner  knelt  our  two 
friends.  The  pent-up  feelings  of  the  young  man  found 
utterance,  and  he  wept  long  and  loudly.  The  silence 
was  at  length  broken  by  his  sister. 

"I  love  to  come  and  weep  here;  for  sometimes  the 
angels  speak  to  me,  and  tell  me  to  be  a  patient,  good 
girl,  and  I  shall  soon  come  home  to  glory  and  my 
mother.  But,  brother,  I  should  not  like  to  be  there 
without  you.  Do  you  remember  the  dear  old  Bible 
from  which  we  learned  our  Sunday-school  lessons?" 

"Yes  ;  a  train  of  holy  recollections  is  sweeping  over 
my  soul." 

"Then,  will  you  not  forgive  our  enemy?" 

"  What  !  shall  the  wretch  who  ruined  us  be  un- 
harmed?" 

"'Vengeance  is  mine;  I  will  repay,  saith  the  Lord.' 
Wait  God's  time,  dear  Clarence." 

"I  would  try,  if  you  were  not  so  helpless,  and  I  so 
poor." 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  75 

"  Our  Father  in  Heaven  will  send  you  a  friend.  He 
always  hears  o.ir  prayers." 

''  Sister,  I  will  go  home.  You  are  the  only  star  left 
to  shed  a  beam  of  light  over  my  darkened  way  ;  and  if 
the  morrow  shall  bring  me  one  generous  friend,  or  lend 
a  ray  of  hope,  I  will  henceforth  dedicate  my  powers  to 
the  glory  of  God.  Your  love,  dear  one,  is  the  spell  that 
binds  me  to  virtue.  You  are  my  better  angel."  Thus 
saying,  he  led  her  silently  from  the  grave. 

Highly  gratified  that  it  was  in  my  power  effectually  to 
aid  one  so  young  and  interesting,  who,  from  his  unpro- 
tected and  friendless  situation,  seemed  standing  on  the 
brink  of  ruin,  and  grateful  for  the  providential  care  of 
that  God  without  whose  notice  even  a  sparrow  cannot 
fall  to  the  ground,  I  retired  to  rest.  My  imagination 
indulged  pleasing  dreams  of  the  future  prosperity  and 
honor  of  Clarence,  and  the  piety  and  usefulness  of  his 
gentle  sister. 


Chapter    III. 

When  the  first  rays  of  golden  light  had  tinged  the 
eastern  skies,  I  arose  to  meditate  upon  what  plan  I 
could  best  proceed.  I  dispatched  a  note  to  Clarence, 
requesting  his  presence  at  my  room  at  eleven  o'clock. 

He  seemed  somewhat  embarrassed  as  he  entered. 
The  wild,  despairing  look  of  the  night  previous  had 


76  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

given  place  to  a  placid  and  resigned  expression.  After 
shaking  him  cordially  by  the  hand,  I  requested  him  to 
be  seated,  and  said  : — 

"  I  saw  you  at  your  mother's  grave,  and  heard  the 
earnest  pleadings  of  your  sister  in  behalf  of  virtue  and 
forgiveness.  God  has  sent  me  to  be  the  friend  for 
whom  you  prayed." 

He  clasped  his  hands,  and,  with  his  eyes  raised  to 
heaven,  exclaimed :  "  I  thank  thee,  O  our  Father  in 
Heaven!" 

"  And  now,  Clarence,  you  must  implicitly  confide  in 
me.  I  have  no  relatives  who  have  claims  upon  my 
wealth  ;  and  I  shall  take  much  pleasure  in  increasing 
your  happiness.  You  shall  be  sent  to  the  university 
from  which  you  were  so  recently  taken.  But  come,  I 
must  first  see  your  sister." 

A  short  walk  brought  us  to  a  pretty  cottage,  half  hid 
from  view  by  a  clump  of  elm  trees.  As  we  were  pass- 
ing through  the  little  gate,  Clarence  said  :  "  In  this  cot- 
tage I  was  born,  and  here  my  mother  died ;  but  yester- 
day it  was  sold  to  defray  the  expenses  of  our  main- 
tenance." 

Ada  was  reading  the  Bible  as  I  entered.  She  cast  a 
timid  glance  at  her  brother,  who,  coming  forward,  said 
affectionately :  "  Dear  Ada,  God  has  answered  our 
prayers." 

Her  eyes  sparkled  with  joy  as  she  said,  "  I  knew  it 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  77 

would  be  so :  mother  told  us  that  Jesus  would  always 
answer  the  petitions  of  faith." 

"  And  will  you  love  me,  my  little  girl  ? "  I  asked. 

"  Yes ;  for  you  are  sent  to  us  from  Heaven,  and  I 
know  you  will  be  very  kind." 

After  leaving  them,  I  determined  to  purchase  the 
cottage  so  sacred  to  the  memory  of  these  poor  orphans. 
This  arrangement  was  soon  effected.  Mrs.  S.,  a  lady 
of  rare  accomplishments  and  integrity  of  character,  I 
had  frequently  heard,  kept  a  small  boarding-school  a 
few  miles  distant  from  the  village.  Under  the  care  of 
this  lady  I  placed  my  young  ward,  who  was  delighted 
at  the  thought  of  having  so  many  little  girls  to  love  and 
to  play  with.  Before  bidding  her  good-bye,  I  enjoined 
upon  her  the  necessity  of  frequently  writing  to  me. 
Her  letters  breathed  the  feelings  of  a  loving  and  gentle 
heart,  deeply  imbued  with  the  holy  lessons  learned 
from  the  Book  of  Life. 

Clarence  attained  the  highest  collegiate  honors.  Now 
the  world  lay  before  him,  and  nature  and  education  had 
well  prepared  him  to  act  a  creditable  part  in  its  scenes. 
I  suggested  that  the  bar  would  afford  the  widest  scope 
for  the  exercise  of  his  splendid  talents,  and  perhaps 
lead  him  to  distinction.  "  Dear  friend,"  he  replied, 
"  I  cannot  devote  myself  to  the  profession  of  law. 
When  I  stood  with  my  sister  at  the  grave  of  my  mother, 
in  the  presence  of  God  and  the  bright  throng  of  holy 


78  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

angels,  who  watch  over  the  destinies  of  mortals,  I  prom- 
ised that,  if  the  morrow  would  but  lend  one  ray  of 
hope,  I  would  dedicate  myself  to  the  glory  of  my 
Creator.  You  came  to  brighten  the  way  of  the  lonely 
orphan,  and  you  have  acted  the  part  of  a  parent.  I  am 
deeply  grateful  ;  but  duty  and  inclination  alike  prompt 
me  to  fulfill  that  sacred  vow." 

I  placed  him  in  charge  of  a  distinguished  divine, 
under  whose  care  he  pursued  his  theological  studies 
with  zeal  and  success.  After  receiving  the  holy  rite  of 
ordination,  he  was  settled  in  one  of  the  larger  villages 
of  Western  New  York.  Here  his  beautiful  reading  of 
the  service,  and  his  earnest  and  persuasive  eloquence, 
won  the  hearts  and  charmed  the  ears  of  his  congre- 
gation ;  while  the  gentleness  and  humility  which  char- 
acterized his  manners  made  him  an  especial  favorite 
with  the  poor. 

What  has  become  of  Ada.?  1  hear  the  reader  im- 
patiently ask.  This  young  lady,  after  leaving  school, 
resided  in  the  cottage  with  an  old  friend  of  her 
mother's,  and  became  the  idol  of  the  village.  Her 
rare  accomplishments  and  graceful  manners  caused  her 
to  be  much  admired  by  the  other  sex.  There  was  a 
suitor,  who  would  gladly  have  led  her  to  the  altar;  but 
he  was  a  stranger  to  the  blessed  influences  of  religion, 
and  lightly  esteemed  its  teachers  ;  and  she  compre- 
hended how  miserable   must  be  her  fate,  if  for  ever 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  79 

obliged  to  associate  with  one  who  entertained  his  un- 
happy opinions.  His  great  wealth  could  not  tempt  her 
to  wander  from  the  path  of  duty. 

Clarence  frequently  acknowledged  the  power  of  a 
sister's  love,  and  felt  its  memory  to  be  the  richest 
treasure  in  a  brother's  soul. 

Ten  years  have  passed,  and  while  Ada  gently  returns 
the  pressure  of  my  hand,  and  her  bright  blue  eyes,  full 
of  tenderness,  look  so  lovingly  upon  me,  my  readers 
must  forgive  me  for  confessing  that  to  remain  an  old 
bachelor  any  longer  is  a  moral  impossibility. 


80  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 


OUR  HORSE  JOHNNY. 

How  far  instinct  fringes  the  bounds  of  reason,  or 
whether  it  may  not  be  an  infinitesimal  part  of  mind 
itself,  is  a  mooted  question.  Is  it  not  possible  that  it 
is  powerful  beyond  our  ken,  and  that  the  inferior 
animals  may  understand  each  other  in  their  vernacular 
as  perfectly  as  we  in  ours  ? 

Our  horse  Johnny  was  a  strongly-built,  well-formed 
bay,  with  muscles  of  iron  ;  he  would  throw  back  his 
head  and  snuff  the  air,  as  if  he  had  a  position  and 
meant  to  maintain  it.  He  was  so  spirited  that  no  horse 
could  pass  him  on  the  road,  and  yet  as  gentle  as  a  lamb 
when  we  children  played  around  his  feet.  He  seemed 
to  know  that  there  were  delicate  morsels  there.  I  re- 
member I  used  to  pass  under  his  body,  and  never 
thought  of  danger  ;  and  danger  there  was  none,  for 
Johnny  knew  that  I  was  blind.  He  used  to  eat  apples 
and  cake  from  my  hand,  but  never  hurt  one  tiny  finger; 
and  then,  oh !  how  I  loved  to  stroke  his  mane,  and  pat 
his  noble  head  as  he  would  lay  it  on  my  shoulder. 

They  used  to  put  me  on  his  back,  and  he  would  go 
slowly  up  and  down  the  field;  but,  if  he  felt  me  slip- 


A    CLUSTER    OP    ROSES.  81 

ping  in  the  least,  he  would  stop  immediately.  He 
watched  while  they  led  me  out  to  the  wagon,  and  never 
moved  until  all  were  seated;  for  Johnny  knew  that  I 
was  blind. 

One  by  one,  the  widow's  household  treasures  were 
taken,  and  yet  insatiate  need  demanded  more.  Then 
it  was  said,  tearfully  said,  "  Johnny  must  be  sold!" 

At  first  they  hired  him  out;  but  when  in  the  evening 
he  came  home  overworked  and  beaten,  all  stood  round 
him  weeping,  and  when  they  laid  my  hand  on  his 
stripes  I  cried  aloud.  Then  he  looked  down,  looked 
scornfully  and  pitifully  down,  as  if  he  would  say,  "Do 
not  cry  !  I  do  not  mind  the  stripes;  I  will  go  and  bear 
them  again,  if  it  will  buy  you  bread."  We  thought 
Johnny  knew  everything — and  this  he  did  know,  that 
he  loved  us  and  we  loved  him. 

Soon  after  this  a  good  man  came  to  buy  Johnny — 
one  who  was  kind  to  all  about  him;  the  brute  creation 
loved  him,  so  we  knew  he  would  be  kind  to  Johnny. 
We  put  our  arms  about  his  neck;  all  of  us  kissed  him, 
and  I  gave  him  a  piece  of  sugar.  The  widow  went 
into  the  house,  and  closed  the  window  that  she  might 
not  see  him  go;  he  was  so  dear,  and  more  than  that  he 
had  been  her  husband's  pride. 

When  I  hear  one  cruelly  beat  a  horse,  my  heart  cries 
out,  "Deal  gently,  oh!  deal  gently  with  him;"  for 
Johnny  knew  that  I  was  blind.     Deal  kindly  with  this 


82  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

skve  of  your  will,  who  serves  you  so  faithfully,  as  ye 
would  God  should  deal  with  you  when  ye  stand  before 
his  judgment-throne. 


DEATH    OF   THE    OLD    COW. 

Our  humble  home  was  not  the  home  that  poets  love 
to  paint.  The  pretty  porch,  twined  with  jessamine 
and  honeysuckle,  our  one-story  frame  house  could  not 
claim;  it  had  only  unpainted  wooden  steps.  Our  front 
yard  could  not  call  a  flower  its  own,  except  the  clover 
blossoms  that  grew  in  the  grass. 

The  house  faced  the  west.  On  the  north,  a  little 
beyond-  it,  was  the  high-curbed  well  with  its  iron- 
bound  bucket ;  and  water  purer  and  sweeter  than  that 
which  came  from  its  far-down  depths,  the  Muse  has 
never  sung.  On  the  south,  beyond  the  peach-tree  and 
near  the  fence  was  an  oak,  a  child  of  the  forest  which 
the  woodman's  axe  had  spared  ;  of  its  acorns  we  chil- 
dren used  to  make  cups  and  saucers,  and  play  tea 
under  its  branches.  Of  the  pretty  sets  of  dishes  chil- 
dren now  enjoy,  we  never  dreamed ;  if  we  heard  of  a 
china  or  earthen  dish  being  broken,  we  ran  to  get  the 
pieces  and  thought  we  had  a  splendid  set  of  crockery. 

The  fence  was  composed  of  boards  laid  lengthwise, 
three  inches  in  width  and  one  inch  apart.     On  top  was 


A   CLtJSTfeR   or   R0§E§.  83 

a  board  laid  flat ;  there  we  children  used  to  walk,  and 
the  boys  jumped  off, — but  I  never  attempted  a  feat  so 
daring.  I  could  only  climb  over.  At  the  back  door 
was  a  sun-flower.  In  the  garden  where  our  vegetables 
grew,  were  hollyhocks,  marigolds,  pinks,  and  roses. 

These  were  all  the  floral  beauties  that  we  children 
knew ;  but  we  had  a  pet — a  little  white  cow,  with  dark 
red  spots ;  and  oh  !  she  had  such  a  pretty  white  face. 
I  used  to  taste  her  breath  in  the  early  morning,  feel 
lier  horns,  go  around  her,  smooth  down  her  sleek  sides, 
and  then  have  my  tin  cup  filled  with  milk.  She  was  a 
mischievous  little  thing;  she  would  follow  us  about, 
and  one  day  volunteered  to  come  into  the  house.  But 
her  neighborly  act  did  not  meet  with  a  favorable 
response  from  its  mistress,  who  thought  her  right  place 
was  in  the  barn  or  the  meadow  by  the  brook. 

One  day — it  was  a  sad  day  for  us — Bossy  went  out 
of  the  back  gate,  lay  down,  and  died.  All  that  could 
be  done,  was  done  to  save  her — but  in  vain.  Then  the 
widow  wept,  and  the  children  cried ;  the  minister  came 
and  spoke  words  of  comfort,  and  the  people  stopped  to 
sympathize  as  they  passed  along ;  but  the  widow  knew 
how  her  children  would  miss  the  delicacies  of  which 
they  had  never  before  known  the  want — how  day  by 
day  her  heart  would  grieve  to  hear  them  ask  for  what 
she  could  not  give.  Those  little  cups  would  be  unfilled 
now.  *  ' 


84  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

We  had  a  wreath  made  of  grasses  and  clover  for 
Bossy's  neck ;  the  flowers  we  laid  over  and  around  her. 
Two  of  the  neighbors  made  a  box  (to  gratify  the  little 
ones,  they  said);,  in  it  they  put  Bossy,  and  laid  her  in 
the  ground.  We  children  were  her  true  mourners. 
But  the  good  people  of  the  Methodist  Church  said  that 
the  widow  and  her  children  must  not  want  for  milk; 
so  one  bright  day  another  Bossy  stood  before  the  door. 

Whenever  I  hear  a  cow  go  lowing  by,  I  think  what 
comfort  she  may  be  bringing  to  the  poor,  the  feeble, 
and  the  sick.  Thousands  of  children,  but  for  the 
nutriment  she  bestows,  would  never  grow  to  manhood 
and  womanhood.  Is  she  not,  then,  a  benefactor  of  our 
race  ?  Are  not  kindness  and  gentleness  her  due  }  Has 
she  not  a  right  to  protection  at  our  hands  from  the 
harshness  and  passion  of  irresponsible  hirelings.^  In 
our  treatment  of  her,  should  we  not  follow  the  precepts 
of  the  golden  rule }     Yes — by  all  that's  sacred,  yes  ! 


A   CLUSTER   OF    ROSE^.  85 


%  J}mtr 


FROM    THE    BOUQUET    OF    MEMORY. 

There  is  a  flower  whose  fragrance  perfumes  the  pres- 
ent hour.  Long  ago  was  it  planted  for  me  in  the  old 
Bay  State,  and  since  that  time  its  bloom  has  been  per- 
petual. 

It  was  a  lovely  August  day,  that  day  of  our  picnic  to 
Mount  Hope.  The  ocean  fog  had  lifted,  and  the  sun 
came  out  as  warm  and  bright  as  if  his  radiance  had 
never  been  obscured.  Our  hearts  bounded  with  joy- 
ous anticipations  of  the  pleasures  before  us. 

About  the  time  the  children  were  wending  their  way 
to  school,  two  sail-boats  loaded  with  human  freight  and 
eatables  were  putting  out  from  the  Fall  River  pier. 
They  were  managed  by  a  son  of  Neptune,  who  from 
his  boyhood  had  been  familiar  with  the  ocean,  and 
knew  the  secrets  of  his  craft  as  well  as  we  our  ABC. 
We  were  a  promiscuous  gathering.  Old  and  young, 
the  highly  intellectual  and  those  of  mediocre  calibre, 
were  in  close  proximity ;  yet  there  was  no  discordant 
element,  for  merriment  was  the  order  of  the  day. 

For  two  hours,  during  which  music  enlivened  the 

4 


S6  A    CLUSTER   OF   ROSES. 

scene,  and  solos,  glees,  and  choruses  were  rendered  and 
enjoyed,  we  were  becalmed  ;  but  at  length  a  fine  breeze 
sprung  up,  and  we  soon  reached  our  destination.  It 
was  charming  to  touch  the  soft  green  grass — to  tread 
the  soil  whereon  King  Philip,  the  renowned  Indian 
chief,  lived  and  died. 

As  we  prepared  for  our  bath,  mirth  and  laughter, 
born  of  the  exhilaration  that  comes  with  the  salt  water, 
were  not  wanting;  neither  were  good-natured,  merry- 
hearted  ones,  whose  mischievous  pranks  and  ludicrous 
blunders  afforded  mutual  amusement.  In  due  time, 
under  the  trees,  out  in  the  invigorating  air,  the  good 
things  were  discussed,  roasted  clams  forming  no  insig- 
nificant part  of  the  entertainment  and  a  hearty  appe- 
tite giving  zest  to  the  whole. 

Then  they  led  me  to  a  spot  rich  in  historic  interest. 
In  the  solid  rock  nature  has  made  a  chair,  in  which 
King  Philip  sat  when  his  people  gathered  round  the 
council-fire.  At  its  base  is  a  stream  of  water,  clear 
and  limpid,  where  the  red  men  quenched  their  thirst 
as  they  smoked  the  pipe  of  peace.  Here  perchance 
the  war-whoop  may  have  sounded,  waking  the  echoes 
of  the  silent  woods,  startling  the  wild  beasts  in  their 
lairs,  frightening  the  birds  as  they  guarded  the  nests 
of  their  young.  Over  vale,  and  hill,  and  mountain,  it 
sounded;  squaws  and  children  knew  its  meaning  and 
caught  its  fire.     Armed  with  scalping-knife  and  toma- 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  87 

hawk,  with  bow  and  arrow  at  his  back,  burning  with 
rage  and  defiant  of  death,  the  red  man  started  on  the 
war-path.  Few  heroes  of  ancient  or  modern  times 
have  been  more  justly  distinguished  for  intrepidity 
than  this  forest  king ;  such  iron  courage,  could  it  have 
led  the  van  of  civilized  war,  might  have  won  a  nation's 
proudest  laurels. 

History  tells  of  a  time  in  the  distant  past  when  a 
little  feeble  pilgrim  band,  worn  with  disease,  famishing 
for  food,  were  fast  yielding  to  hardship  and  suffering. 
Just  at  the  critical-  moment,  a  red  hand  was  stretched 
out  to  help  them;  it  was  the  good  chief  Massasoit — 
but  for  his  timely  aid,  the  settlement  could  not  have 
survived.     Shall  we  forget  it  now.^ 

How  mild  and  docile  were  the  Indians,  when  the 
Spaniards  first  landed  on  their  shores;  and  how  that 
gentleness  has  been  met  and  rewarded!  History  is 
voiceful,  and  as  we  read  this  portion  of  its  record  tears 
dim  our  eyes. 

It  is  thought  by  many  that  the  time  is  not  far  distant 
when  the  Indian  will  live  only  in  song  and  story;  I  do 
not  think  so.  Their  belief  in  the  control  and  guidance 
of  the  one  Great  Spirit  is  beautiful  as  far  as  it  goes, 
and  approaches  nearer  to  the  idea  of  the  true  God  than 
any  tenet  of  even  the  most  cultured  heathen  nations. 
The  readiness  with  which  they  receive  Christian  mis- 
sionaries is  sufficient  proof  that  they  are  not  destined  to 


88  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

entire  extinction.  When  the  Indians  shall  know  as- 
suredly that  their  land  cannot  by  any  possibility  be 
taken  from  them,  it  may  be  that  they  will  cultivate  their 
fields,  build  comfortable  houses  for  their  wives  and 
children,  and  like  good  citizens  perform  the  various 
duties  of  civilized  life;  then  we  shall  not  see  them  die 
out  and  pass  away  like  the  autumnal  leaves. — I  have 
digressed;  but  thought  led  me  as  it  would. 

We  climbed  the  mountains,  and  descried  Bristol  and 
the  adjoining  towns  ;  on  every  side  the  eye  had  a  wide 
range  over  thriving  farms  and  cheerful  homes.  We 
talked  of  the  past,  the  present,  and  the  future,  till  the 
waning  day  warned  us  to  return  to  the  boats. 

When  we  were  nearing  our  place  of  destination,  I 
was  startled  by  the  rush  of  the  people  to  the  other  side 
of  the  boat;  instinctively  I  went  with  them.  Then  the 
stentorian  voice  of  our  commander  was  heard;  heads 
went  down,  and  ropes  were  rapidly  pulled.  We  had 
run  into  the  bowsprit  of  a  Swedish  schooner,  and  stood 
five  chances  to  one  of  going  to  the  bottom;  but  the 
prompt  action  of  our  commander  averted  the  danger, 
and  saved  us  from  the  disagreeable  experience  of 
an  unpremeditated  bath,  and  perhaps  a  terrible  fright. 
In  all  human  probability  we  should  not  have  been 
drowned,  for  our  critical  situation  was  observed  from 
the  shore,  and  boats  were  sent  out  to  our  rescue.  At 
last  we  landed,  and  congratulating  each  other  on  our 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  89 

escape  from   a  ducking,   and   in   the   highest    spirits, 
we  went  to  our  several  abodes. 

We  who  participated  in  the  scenes  of  that  delightful 
day  are  not  destined  to  meet  on  earth  again,  but  it 
is  a  sweet  episode  in  our  lives  to  which  we  may  all 
recur  with  pleasure.  As  for  myself,  till  my  latest  day 
the  flower  planted  by  the  kindness  of  my  Fall  River 
friends  will  bloom  in  the  unseen  garden  of  the  soul. 


90  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 


J^l  i|aj|I^$  J^ppltltitt  J^^am^  n 

The  crimson  of  day  was  fast  fading  into  night,  and 
the  sunset  rays  of  purple  and  gold  were  faintly  reflected 
on  the  mountain-side.  The  moon  was  just  rising,  and 
poured  a  flood  of  silver  light  over  the  glowing  land- 
scape, kissing  the  limpid  stream  that  murmured  at  the 
mountain's  base. 

On  a  hill  embosomed  in  vines  was  the  cottage  of 
Friend  Brown,  for  this  was  the  soubriquet  of  the 
Quaker  preacher ;  and  he  was  worthy  of  the  appella- 
tion, for  he  was  in  the  truest  sense  of  the  word  a 
friend  to  all  who  came  to  him  for  counsel.  Now  his 
voice  floated  out  on  the  still  and  lovely  evening,  for  he 
was  reading  a  letter.  Violet  eyes  looked  into  his,  and 
studied  the  expression  of  his  face  at  its  conclusion. 

"  Dear  grandpa,  may  I  go  ?"  and  she  leaned  her 
elbows  on  his  knees,  and  looked  up  entreatingly. 

"  Dost  thou  wish  it  very  much,  Clara  ?" 

"  Oh  !  yes  ;  indeed,  indeed  I  do,  grandpa.  I  want 
to  see  how  gay  people  live,  and  to  hear  how  they  talk. 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  91 

I  want  to  know  what  they  do,  and  how  they  amuse 
themselves.  I  want  to  know  all  about  them,  grandpa. 
Oh !  won't  I  be  glad  if  you  only  say  I  can  go  !"  and 
she  clapped  her  hands  for  joy  at  the  very  thought. 

"Well,  well,"  he  replied,  slowly  folding  the  paper, 
"  it's  natural  for  young  folks  to  like  pleasure ;  and  my 
little  birdie  must  have  youth's  enjoyment  too.  Yes, 
my  darling,  thou  shalt  go.  God  keep  thee  from  temp- 
tation while  thou  art  away  from  thy  old  grandpa.  Thy 
father  married  out  of  meeting  by  a  hireling  minister, 
and  I  could  not  go  to  the  wedding ;  he  was  disowned. 
It  grieved  me  deeply.  Since  that  time  we  have  become 
less  rigid,  and  I  am  glad  to  have  it  so.  We  who  are 
travelling  to  Heaven  on  the  same  road  should  travel  it 
together  in  brotherly  love." 

The  moonbeams  rested  on  his  gray  hair,  while  he 
stooped  down  and  laid  a  kiss  on  his  granddaughter's 
forehead. 

The  breeze  sighed  softly  through  the  pines,  but 
found  no  echo  in  the  light-hearted  Clara,  who  put  out 
her  candle  and  wandered  away  to  dream-land. 

Three  weeks  subsequent  to  the  evening  of  which  we 
have  spoken,  when  the  twilight  shadows  were  super- 
seding the  day,  Clara  leaned  back  in  her  uncle's  car- 
riage, and  was  driven  up  the  broad  road  which  led  to 
his  residence  around  a  many-tinted  flower-circle,  and 
through  mazes  of  rich  shrubbery.       The  door  of  the 


92  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

Stately  mansion  was  thrown  open  on  her  approach;  and 
as  she  stood  in  the  marble  hall  and  received  the  wel- 
come of  her  aunt  and  her  heretofore  stranger  cousins, 
and  looked  down  the  sweep  of  the  long  parlors,  bril- 
liantly lighted  with  chandeliers  and  candelabra,  it 
seemed  to  her  as  if  she  had  entered  a  new  world. 

The  next  morning,  when  the  robins  and  orioles  were 
singing  in  the  maples  and  elms,  Clara  descended  the 
broad  staircase  and  stepped  out  on  the  piazza.  A  dis- 
tant waterfall  greeted  her  sight.  The  gate  was  hinged 
on  two  poplar  trees;  flower-beds  were  interspersed  in 
the  grass;  and  here  and  there  were  frames  to  which 
vines  and  floweis  were  trained.  A  sense  of  novelty 
overcame  her,  rather  than  an  appreciation  of  the  ex- 
quisite beauty  with  which  she  was  surrounded. 

Through  the  arbor,  rich  with  its  promise  of  autumn 
fruitage,  she  reached  tlie  summei -house  with  its  air  of 
secluded  repose.  "  Oh  !  how  I  would  like  to  bring  my 
work  and  sit  here  every  day.  I  hope  they'll  let  me," 
was  her  mental  exclamation. 

Thoughtful  consideration  had  built  bird-houses  on 
the  roof  of  the  summer  house.  "How  pretty  they 
are!"  she  said.  "I  wish  grandpa  could  see  them;  I 
know  he  w^ould  have  houses  like  them." 

The  tinkle  of  a  bell  told  her  the  family  were  astir, 
and  she  hastened  back;  but  she  was  dismayed  to  find 
herself  fastened  out,  for  in  their  humble  cottage  a  night- 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  93 

latch  was  unknown,  and  indeed  the  door  was  very 
seldom  locked. 

Her  cousin  Harry  responded  to  the  bell.  "Why, 
coz,"  said  he,  "you  are  up  with  the  lark,  and  you  look 
as  bright  and  fresh  as  Hebe  herself." 

"I  hope  I  have  not  been  doing  anything  wrong," 
she  replied  in  a  timid  voice. 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  was  the  rejoinder.  "  In  this  house 
he  who  pleases  himself  pleases  his  neighbor  best.  But 
come,  mother  and  Belle  are  in  the  dining-room,"  he 
continued,  as  he  smilingly  led  the  way. 

The  elegantly-laid  table,  gleaming  with  glass  and  sil- 
ver, bewitched  her  fancy,  "  Well,  I  never  have  seen 
anything  half  so  beautiful,"  was  her  mental  comment. 
The  china  cups  were  so  delicate  she  was  almost  afraid 
to  touch  them. 

The  luxurious  meal  over,  Harry  approached  the 
window.  "Come,  coz,"  said  he,  "while  mother  and 
Belle,  are  busy  at  little  nothings,  suppose  you  and  I  take 
a  walk  to  Meadow  Brook."  Clara  was  no  way  unwill- 
ing, and  they  were  soon  out  on  the  lawn. 

"  What  a  pretty  wood  this  is!  "  she  exclaimed.  "  How 
many  wild  flowers  grow  here  !  Does  all  this  belong  to 
yoiir  father,  Harry — all  this  land  and  this  beautiful 
place  ?" 

His  answer  in  the  affirmative  astonished  her.  "  Why, 
coz,  this  is  a  mere  bagatelle  in  comparison  with  what 


04  A    CLUSTER    OF    RO.SES. 

Other  men  own — friends  of  mine,  to  whom  I  mean  to 
introduce  you.  And  I'll  just  whisper  it  in  your  ear, 
coz ;  some  of  them  are  in  the  market,  and  they  are 
worth  catching." 

The  underbrush  had  been  cleared  away  from  the 
circuitous  path  that  wound  down  to  the  brook.  How 
the  waters  danced  over  the  pebbles ;  how  bright  and 
clear  they  looked  I 

"Is  the  brook  very  long,  Harry.?     Does  it  go  far.-*" 

"  Yes,  it  takes  a  serpentine  course,  winding  along 
through  fields,  farms,  and  villages.  We  will  ride  by  it 
this  afternoon." 

A  little  later  in  the  day,  the  ramblers  entered  the 
library.  "  Well,  brother,"  said  Belle,  coming  up  to  them, 
"  you  have  completely  appropriated  cousin  so  far, 
but  I  mean  to  have  a  share  of  her  now.  Clara,  what 
do  you  say  to  taking  a  ride  through  the  meadows,  over 
the  hills,  and  far  away?" 

"I  will  be  delighted,"  answered  Clara. 

"It  is  just  the  day  for  a  drive,"  continued  Belle;  so 
cool,  and  there  is  no  dust.  We've  time  for  a  good  airing 
before  dinner.      Will  you  order  the  carriage,  Harry.?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Harry,  "and  I'll  mount  Fleeta,  and 
go  as  your  body-guard." 

To  Clara  it  seemed  as  if  she  were  in  a  new  world; 
one  amusement  succeeded  another  in  a  ])erpetual  round. 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  95 

"  Ma,"  said  Belle,  as  she  surprised  her  mother  by 
coming  into  her  room  before  breakfast,  "  Clara  will 
need  a  dress  for  the  party.  Don't  you  think  pink 
silk,  with  an  overskirt  of  tulle  looped  up  with  daisies, 
would  be  pretty  for  her  ?  If  you  will  order  it,  I  will 
superintend  its  making." 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  so  unselfish,  my  daughter.  And 
so  you  are  willing  to  see  your  cousin  tastefully  dressed, 
notwithstanding  her  beauty  and  piquant  ways  have 
been  so  much  admired  by  our  gentleman  friends." 

"  Now,  ma,  don't  give  me  credit  for  what  is  not  my 
due.  If  I  were  not  already  engaged,  I  am  very  sure  I 
should  do  all  I  could  to  keep  Clara  in  the  back-ground. 
But  as  it  is,  I'd  rather  give  her  the  opportunity  of 
making  a  good  match."  So  the  dress  was  ordered. 
Meanwhile  the  country  cousin  had  got  the  better  of  her 
timidity,  and  was  almost  as  much  at  home  in  this  abode 
of  opulence  as  in  the  little  cottage  among  the  pines. 

"Oh!"  thought  Clara,  as  she  was  standing  before 
the  mirror  arrayed  for  the  party,  "I  wish  grandpa 
could  see  me  now;  I  wonder  what  he  would  say.  I 
wonder  if  he  would  be  sorry  to  see  me  look  so  fine.  I 
hope  not,  for  oh!   I  love  him,  and  I'm  so  happy  now!  " 

Harry  saw  with  pain  how  regretfully  Clara  looked 
on  while  the  dancers  flitted  before  her.  It  was  the  first 
time  in  her  life  she  had  ever  witnessed  the  poetry  of 
motion. 


96  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

"How  did  you  like  the  party,  Clara?"  asked  her 
uncle,  as  he  laid  down  his  paper  and  sipped  his  coffee 
the  following  morning. 

"It  was  the  most  beautiful  thing  I  ever  saw  in  my 
life;  it  carried  me  away  to  fairy-land.  But  oh!  I  do 
wish  I  knew  how  to  dance." 

"It  is  an  accomplishment  you  ought  to  possess,"  he 
replied,  "  for  your  mother  was  the  most  graceful  dancer 
in  all  the  country  round." 

"  I'll  teach  coz  to  trip  it  on  the  light  fantastic  toe 
with  the  greatest  pleasure,"  broke  in  Harry,  "if  she 
will  accept  me  for  her  dancing-master." 

"  O  cousin,  that  will  be  splendid,"  she  cried,  clapping 
her  hands  in  her  unbounded  joy,  while  her  eyes  fairly 
sparkled. 

"  When  will  you  take  your  first  lesson?  " 

"  I  am  ready  now,"  was  her  reply,  and  they  were  soon 
diligently  at  work  practicing  the  figures. 

"  I  am  afraid  Clara  will  be  vain,"  remarked  the 
maiden  aunt  of  Mr.  Warren,  who  was  spending  a  few 
days  in  his  family.  "  The  attentions  lavished  upon 
her  by  the  gentlemen  last- night  were  enough  to  turn 
more  than  one  little  head." 

"I  don't  fear  for  Clara,"  replied  Mr.  Warren;  "she 
has  too  much  good  sense  to  be  thrown  off  her  balance. 
JBut  she  must  not  dream  of  the  possibility  of  charming 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  97 

ChSrles  Appleton,  for  he  is  a  declared  foe  to  matri- 
mony." 

"  Mr.  Appleton  is  so  stiff  and  cold,"  exclaimed  Clara, 
who  had  caught  the  latter  part  of  his  remark  as  she 
paused  to  take  breath,  "  I  should  as  soon  think  of 
having  an  iceberg  near  me." 

''  Nevertheless  icebergs  may  be  thawed,  and  Charley 
is  worth  catching.  Suppose  you  try,  coz,"  said  Harry, 
looking  archly  at  his  sister.  The  thought  of  catching 
any  one  had  never  as  yet  crossed  the  mind  of  their 
cousin. 

"  My  dear,"  said  Mr.  Warren  one  day  to  his  wife, 
"  if  it  meets  with  your  approbation,  I  propose  to  give 
a  dinner-party  while  Senator  Finch  and  his  lady  are 
with  us.  As  it  will  be  the  only  thing  of  the  kind  I 
expect  to  do  this  season,  I  want  it  to  be  a  fine  affair ; 
so  I  will  just  give  orders  to  Delmonico  to  superintend 
and  arrange  the  whole.  There  will  be  nothing  for  you 
to  do  but  to  send  out  the  invitations." 

Not  one  regret  came  in.  The  cloudless  day  saw  the 
house  redolent  with  flowers  and  adorned  with  tasteful 
and  elaborate  toilets.  Clara  wore  a  dress  of  white 
muslin  looped  up  with  pansies;  around  the  coil  of 
braids  of  her  back  hair  were  pansies  and  violets. 

Senator  Finch  was  a  jovial,  old-fashioned  man,  who 
loved  mirth  and  pleasantry;    so  when  the  nuts  were 


98  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

before  them,  he  asked  Mrs.  Warren  to  eat  a  philopena 
with  him.  Just  then  a  pair  of  violet  orbs,  with  the 
archest  expression  in  the  world,  glanced  merrily  before 
the  cold  gray  eyes  of  Mr.  Appleton.  How  it  was  he 
could  not  tell,  but  that  glance  went  beyond  the  sur- 
face. It  left  a  sunbeam  in  the  soul,  and  so  far  melted 
it  as  to  allow  him  to  say  in  the  most  stately  and  meas- 
ured tones,  "  Will  Miss  Brown  do  me  the  honor  to  eat 
a  philopena  with  me  ?  " 

A  little  unjewelled  hand  was  stretched  out  to  receive 
the  offered  kernel. 

"  What  a  pretty  little  hand  it  is,"  he  thought.  "  I 
wonder  what  kind  of  a  woman  its  owner  is  going  to 
make."  He  entered  into  conversation  with  her  ;  Clara 
was  full  of  mirth  and  merriment. 

"Well,  coz,  you  did  not  seem  to  be  overwhelmed," 
was  Harry's  remark  when  the  company  had  taken  their 
leave  ;  your  tongue  wagged  as  busily  as  I  ever  heard 
it." 

"  Why  no,"  answered  Clara.  "  The  iceberg  bore 
down  upon  me  somewhat  formidably ;  but  when  I 
found  I  was  neither  frozen  nor  annihilated,  I  thought 
I  would  have  a  good  time." 

"And  somebody  else  had  a  good  time  too,  coz,  for 
he  stayed  close  by  you." 

While  these  remarks  were  being  made,  Charles 
soliloquized  as  follows,  as  he  was  riding  home:  "What 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSP:S.  99 

an  unsophisticated  child  of  nature  she  is !  Here 
exuberant  happiness  is  infectious  ;  I  felt  as  if  I  were 
breathing  a  charmed  atmosphere,  all  seemed  so  bright 
around  me.  But  pshaw !  I  am  not  going  to  be  such 
a  confounded  fool  as  to  fall  head  and  ears  in  love  with 
a  girl  just  because  she  is  pretty  and  sprightly." 

Arrived  at  his  elegantly-appointed  apartment,  he 
threw  himself  into  an  arm-chair,  and  this  was  the  sub- 
stance of  his  meditations  : — 

"  How  charming  Clara  would  look  as  my  vis-a-vis ! 
How  her  glance  would  light  up  my  soul  !  How  grace- 
ful would  be  the  sweep  of  her  white  dress  over  the 
crimson  cushion  of  that  sofa !  How  sweetly  her  musi- 
cal voice  would  sound  in  this  room  !  But  what  a  con- 
summate fool  I  am,  to  go  mad  about  this  girl  ;  why  I 
am  losing  my  identity.  How  pleased  some  young 
ladies  I  know  would  be,  if  they  could  look  into  my 
heart  to-night !  How  they  would  laugh  to  see  one 
whom  they  have  heretofore  regarded  ns  cold  and  in- 
vulnerable almost  ensnared.  But  they  shall  never 
know  it ;  nothing  will  come  of  it — only  there  never 
was,  and  never  can  be,  another  girl  like  Clara.  Some- 
how, when  I  think  of  it,  it  is  confoundedly  lonesome 
here.  But  what  a  goose  I  am  !  I  am  losing  my  wits. 
No,  I  am  getting  nervous;  I  want  some  air." 

In  his  hurry  to  reach  *he' window  he  upset  a  prettily- 
worked  bootjack,  the  gift  of  a  lady  friend,  and  over- 


100  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

turned  the  table  and  lamp ;  books,  ink,  and  paper,  went 
flying  hither  and  thither  over  the  floor.  In  desperation 
he  raised  the  window;  he  looked  out ;  the  stars  were 
shining,  but  in  them  he  could  see  only  the  soft  violet 
eyes  that  glanced  into  his  soul  and  left  the  sunbeam 
there. 

"  O  fiddlesticks !  I  am  not  going  to  slip  my  neck 
into  the  noose.  I'll  join  tliat  hunting-party  of  friends 
to-morrow,  and  go  West." 

It  was  dark  within.  The  carpet  was  saturated  with 
oil;  so  he  slipped  and  fumbled  about  till  he  found  a 
match,  lighted  his  travelling  lamp,  and  got  to  bed — but 
only  to  dream  that  a  little  hand  was  stretched  out  to 
him,  that  on  that  little  hand  he  put  a  ring,  and  held  it 
in  his  own. 

Meanwhile,  Clara  intuitively  felt  that  under  that  cold 
forbidding  exterior  glowed  warmth  and  tenderness, 
which  now  and  then  flashed  out  in  his  moments  of 
self-forgetfulness. 

In  the  morning,  Charles  remembered  a  promise  which 
he  had  made  to  call  on  Harry.  While  they  were 
standing  in  the  portico,  and  Harry  was  picking  to 
pieces  a  sprig  of  white  hawthorn,  they  discussed  the 
question  whether  they  should  fish  in  Meadow  Brook, 
or  take  their  guns  and  stroll  in  the  woods.  "  If  we  do 
the  first,  perhaps  the  ladies  will  join  us,"  said  Charles. 

"But  I  thought,"  replied  his  companion,  "that  you 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  101 

looked  on  ladies  as  a  bore,  and  surely  I  once  heard  you 
say  that  a  company  of  gentlemen  without  them  was 
more  to  your  mind." 

"  Did  I  ?  Well,  circumstances  alter  cases,  you  know; 
since  that  time  a  change  has  come  over  the  spirit  of  my 
dream.     Suppose  we  all  go  angling  together." 

Just  then  Clara  in  her  pink  morning-dress  crossed 
their  path.  She  was  reading  a  letter  from  her  grand- 
pa, and  did  not  observe  them  till  Mr.  Appleton  started 
forward,  exclaiming  "  Philopena  !  " 

"Fairly  caught,  coz,"  said  Harry,  as  he  took  her 
hand. 

"Yes,"  was  her  laughing  reply;  "I  acknowledge  my 
capture."  Her  cheeks  were  all  aglow  with  healthful 
exercise,  and  her  countenance  was  bright  with  anima- 
tion. She  looked  so  pretty  then  and  there  that  Charles 
wished — oh  !  how  much  he  wished — that  he  could  hold 
her  by  something  stronger  and  more  enduring  than  a 
little  word. 

"Clara,"  said  her  aunt,  as  they  were  walking  in  the 
garden  in  the  cool  of  the  early  morning,  "  what  shall  I 
get  you  to  send  to  Mr.  Appleton  as  a  philopena  ? " 

"  Nothing,  aunty.  I  am  a  poor  girl,  and  he  must 
accept  a  poor  girl's  gift.      I'll  pick  up  something." 

Each  day  Charles  found  some  excuse  for  calling  at 
the  Warrens',  and  each  day  he  was  more  and  more 
captivated  by  the  winsome  ways  and    pretty  face  of 


102  A    CLUSTER   OF    ROSES. 

the  little  country-girl.  Gradually  the  conviction  forced 
itself  upon  his  mind  that  he  was  really  in  love  with  her, 
and  more  and  more  lonesome  and  uninviting  became 
his  bachelor  quarters. 

One  evening  as  he  had  donned  his  dressing-gown 
and  slippers,  he  was  thinking  how  nice  it  would  be  to 
have  a  little  arm  about  his  neck,  and  a  cheek — Clara's 
cheek  —  pressed  against  his  own,  when  a  box  was 
brought  in.  He  opened  it ;  it  was  Clara's  philopena — 
a  candy  cane.  Attached  to  it  by  a  blue  ribbon  was  a 
paper  with  this  stanza : — 

"  Now,  Charles,  accept  this  candy  cane ; 
'Twill  help  you  through  a  world  of  pain. 
Seldom  you  meet  a  staff  so  sweet ; 
Lean  on't  when  tired — when  hungry,  eat." 

He  laughed  outright.  "  The  girl's  a  wit,  I  declare  ; 
and  if  I  don't  get  her,  I'll  be  a  fool.  I  don't  believe  I 
am  indifferent  to  her,  and — and — the  long  and  short  of 
the  matter  is,  I  cannot  live  without  her." 

As  the  summer  rolled  on,  Charles  began  to  be  looked 
upon  by  the  Warrens  as  one  of  the  family;  and  so  ex- 
clusively did  he  devote  himself  to  Clara  as  to  leave  no 
doubt  of  his  intentions.  And  at  last  his  love  was  re- 
ciprocated. At  first  she  had  felt  for  him  only  respect, 
called  forth  by  his  gentlemanly  manners,  refined  taste, 
and  evident  superiority  of  mind.     Then,  as  the  sterling 


A    CI,USTER    OF    ROSES.  103 

good  that  was  within  him  was  brought  out,  to  meet  the 
call  of  duty  or  smooth  the  rugged  pathway  of  some  less 
favored  life,  respect  grew  into  reverence.  At  length, 
almost  imperceptibly  to  herself,  it  became  merged  in 
love — not  the  burning  passion  that  comes  with  a  rush, 
maddens  the  brain,  and  carries  all  before  it, — but  the 
sweet,  gentle,  mellifluous  affection  that  fans  the  soul 
with  perfume,  fills  the  life  with  peace,  and  strengthens 
as  the  years  go  by. 

When  the  woods  were  rejoicing  in  the  glory  of  their 
autumnal  tints,  before  a  tinge  of  decay  had  dimmed 
their  brightness,  Charles  knew  that  his  day-dream  was 
real,  that  the  hand  which  he  so  prized  would  become 
his  own,  and  would  one  day  wear  the  nuptial  ring. 

Clara  did  not  allow  herself  to  become  engaged  with- 
out her  grandpa's  sanction. 

"Well,  well,"  said  the  white-haired  man,  as  he  laid 
down  the  letter.  "  So  my  little  birdie  wants  to  leave 
her  poor  old  grandpa.  I  would  have  been  glad  to 
have  her  marry  in  our  Society,  because  the  quiet  peace- 
ful lives  we  lead  bring  true  happiness.  I  have  never 
known  a  discordant  marriage  among  Friends."  Then, 
turning  to  his  sister :  "  Has  not  this  been  thy  ex- 
perience, Ruth?" 

"Yes,  brother."  She  sighed  as  she  spoke,  for  she 
thought  of  one  then  sleeping  in  the  bosom  of  the 
Pacific,  who  was  to  have  been  her  protector  and  stay. 


104  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

Then,  after  a  moment,  she  resumed:  "The  young 
win  our  hearts — then  go  away  and  leave  a  great  void 
there,  and  perhaps  we  never  see  them  again." 

Friend  Brown  took  his  spotless  handkerchief  out  of 
his  pocket,  and  wiped  away  the  tears  that  were  fast 
dimming  his  eyes.  "  Clara's  principles,"  said  he,  "  are 
so  thoroughly  founded  on  the  truths  of  God's  eternal 
Word  that  I  do  not  fear  the  test  to  which  they  may  be 
exposed,  even  should  she  become  a  votary  of  fashion." 

"  Then  thou  wilt  consent  to  this  marriage." 

"  Yes ;  friend  Warren  is  her  mother's  brother,  and 
he  knows  that  the  young  man  who  asks  for  her  hand  is 
a  youth  of  good  principles.  It  will  be  hard  to  have 
her  leave  us.  But,  Ruth,  thou  and  I  will  never  part ; 
hand  in  hand  we  will  go  down  the  rest  of  life's  hill 
together.  Together  we  will  read  our  Bible,  and  talk 
of  the  days  of  our  youth,  and  try  to  make  ready  for  the 
Master's  call." 

These  words  of  brotherly  love  were  balm  to  the 
lonely  heart  of  the  poor  desolate  old  woman,  for  he 
was  all  she  now  had  to  live  for  or  to  love.  And  so  it 
was  the  poor  and  suffering  knew  Aunt  Ruth  would 
never  say  them  nay ;  wherever  there  was  need,  there 
were  her  tender  ministrations.  Her  experience  in 
nursing  made  her  invaluable  in  sickness,  and  her  sym- 
pathetic words  brought  comfort  to  many  an  afflicted 
heart. 


A    CLUSTER   OF    ROSES.  105 

Clara's  letter  called  forth  the  following  response 
from  her  grandfather  : — 

"  15th  Second  Month,  1st  Day. 
"  My  dear  Birdie, 

Since  thou  hast  chosen  thy  mate, 
God  bless  thee  and  him.  I  am  glad  thou  wilt  be  mar- 
ried on  the  20th  of  Sixth  Month,  for  then  thou  wilt  be 
eighteen.  I  cannot  come  to  thee,  for  Sister  Ruth  is 
with  me,  and  she  is  very  feeble  ;  but  I  want  to  be  pres- 
ent at  that  happy  time.  Canst  thou  not  come  to  me  ? 
Thou  mayest  bring  all  thy  friends  with  thee ;  I  will  see 
they  are  accommodated.  And  wilt  thou  please  thy 
old  grandpa,  and  wear  a  plain  white  dress,  such  as  thou 
didst  wear  when  thou  wast  with  me  ?  I  give  thee  to 
Charles  with  all  my  heart,  and  I  leave  ye  both  in  our 
Heavenly  Father's  keeping  Do  not  forget  the  lessons 
of  holy  duty  thou  didst  learn  when  thou  wast  with  thy 
poor  old  grandfather.     And  now,  birdie,  farewell." 

When  the  roses  were  in  bloom,  and  when  the  air  was 
perfumed  with  the  scent  of  apple-blossoms,  while 
feathered  warblers  made  the  country  jubilant  with 
song,  a  party  plainly  yet  richly  dressed  might  have 
been  seen  walking  slowly  up  the  hill  that  led  to  the 
pine-embowered  cottage.  The  bride  wore  a  simple 
white  dress,  the  work  of  her   own  hands  before  she 


106  A   CLUSTER  OF   ROSES. 

ever  dreamed  of  the  gay  world  in  which  she  was  to 
shine. 

The  country  folk  were  already  there.  The  cottage 
being  too  small  for  their  reception,  a  desk  had  been 
improvised  in  an  adjoining  hemlock  grove ;  the  Bible 
and  Prayer  Book  were  laid  upon  it.  There,  in  God's 
first  temple,  as  the  poet  says,  stood  the  clergyman  in 
his  robes;  and  while  the  breeze  rippled  through  the 
boughs  and  the  birds  sang  about  them,  the  holy  words 
were  said,  the  pledge  was  given  and  received  that  made 
visible  union — for  long  before  their  hearts  had  been 
bound  with  the  harmonious  cord  of  love.  A  table 
was  spread  in  the  cottage,  with  cold  meats,  cake,  and 
coffee,  to  which  all  helped  themselves  at  pleasure, 

Charles  and  Clara  mingled  with  the  company,  and 
answered  their  kind  congratulations  with  sweet  smiles 
and  pleasant  words.  At  the  request  of  the  bride,  the 
wedding-tour  was  dispensed  with,  and  the  sum  that 
would  have  been  thus  expended  was  given  to  her 
grandpa,  to  enlarge  his  opportunities  of  doing  good. 

Clara  became  the  mistress  of  a  tasteful  and  luxurious 
home,  and  a  star  in  the  galaxy  of  beauty  and  fashion ; 
but  underlying  all  were  the  pure  principles  so  carefully 
instilled  by  the  dear  grandfather  who  had  watched  over 
her  youth. 

On  every  yearly-meeting  evening,  her  rich  and  fash- 
ionable acquaintances  knew  that  Mrs.  Appleton  would 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSeS.  10? 

not  be  at  home  to  them;  but  her  door  was  hospitably 
open  to  country  friends.  Whether  rich  or  poor,  it  did 
not  matter;  there  they  were  cordially  invited  to  rest,  and 
their  sweet  peaceful  ways  softened  the  brilliant  tinting 
of  her  rosy  life. 

To  a  college  mate  Charles  Appleton  writes  as  fol- 
lows : — "  I  became  a  Benedict  because  an  angel  crossed 
my  path.  Her  warm  and  tender  smile  dissolved  the 
ice  in  my  heart,  filled  my  life  with  light,  and  made  me 
a  new  man.  I  could  no  more  live  without  her  than  I 
could  breathe  without  air.  This  is  why  I  became  a 
Benedict." 


108  A   CLUSTER   OP    ROSES. 


a^lmjlutt  $  \uh 


The  golden  days  of  summer  enjoyment  were  fast 
drawing  to  their  close.  While  staying  at  Lawn  Villa, 
in  the  picturesque  town  of  Summit,  I  was  surrounded 
by  all  that  art,  cultivation,  and  the  endearments  of 
friendship  could  contribute  to  beautify,  sweeten,  and 
ennoble  life.  It  was  not  strange,  then,  that  the  thought 
of  parting  with  these  rose-colored  hours  should  awaken 
regret.  Like  the  gold  and  purple  of  the  setting  sun, 
they  were  destined  to  pass  away, — but  not  like  them  to 
fade  and  die.  Oh  no;  they  were  to  live  and  shine 
through  the  vicissitudes  of  years,  to  warm  and  brighten 
the  soul  with  tlieir  delightful  memories. 

Many  of  the  boarders  at  the  hotel  were  friends  of 
my  host  and  hostess  ;  most  of  our  evenings,  therefore, 
were  passed  in  social  gatherings,  hops,  tableaux,  mirth, 
and  song.  One  was  spent  in  celebrating  a  scientific 
triumph — the  laying  of  the  Atlantic  cable.  Not  one 
black  cloud  darkened  the  cerulean  sky  of  that  never- 
to-be-forgotten  summer. 

On  the  16th  of  September,  an  excursion  to  Washing- 
ton's Rock  was  gotten  up  for  my  gratification.     The 


A   CLUSTER   OP   ROSES.  109 

air  was  soft  and  balmy.  The  great  king  of  day,  beam- 
ing with  splendor,  smiled  beneficently  on  the  moun- 
tains glowing  with  his  light,  on  the  pretty  town  of 
Summit,  with  its  verdure-clad  hills  ;  and  down,  far 
down,  he  smiled  into  happy  hearts,  where  the  music  of 
joy  and  gladness  responded  to  his  brightness. 

In  the  cool  of  the  morning,  while  the  flowers  were 
yet  jewelled  with  dew,  a  chartered  stage  stood  before 
the  ornate  gate  of  Lawn  Villa  ;  but  the  friends  seated 
in  it  had  not  long  to  wait.  An  expectant  party  trod 
the  gravelled  path,  and  there  was  a  hearty  shaking  of 
hands.  Soon  the  horses  started.  Our  way  lay  through 
sequestered  valleys,  lovely  plains,  and  picturesque  gor- 
ges, over  hills  and  mountains,  past  towns  and  villages. 
While  the  eye  took  in  scenes  of  beauty  and  grandeur, 
the  lips  were  vocal  with  the  interchange  of  kindly 
thought. 

On  our  arrival,  a  panorama  of  wonderful  beauty 
charmed  the  eye.  From  the  rock  we  descried  the 
Palisades,  the  verdant  shores  of  Staten  Island,  and 
even  the  steeple  of  Trinity  Church.  The  atmosphere 
was  so  clear  it  seemed  as  if  half  the  world  lay  stretched 
before  us.  One  of  the  party,  a  Spaniard  who  had 
travelled  much,  said  he  had  never  before  seen  anything 
so  beautiful. 

The  rock  was  carved  with  names  innumerable.  Here 
Washington  took  his  stand  when  the  British  army  lay 

5 


110  A    CLUSTER   Ot   ROSE^. 

between  Brunswick  and  Elizabethtown.  Here  the 
prayers  of  the  Christian  hero  went  up  to  the  living 
God,  the  mighty  Jehovah,  his  solace  in  calamity,  his 
trust  in  discouragement,  his  strength  in  the  day  of  bat- 
tle. Near  the  sacred  spot  was  a  platform,  also  thickly 
cut  with  names.  The  telescope  had  been  broken  the 
day  before ;  otherwise  a  more  extended  view  might 
have  been  obtained. 

The  cloth  was  spread  on  the  green  grass,  and  we  sat 
down  to  a  delightful  collation  prepared  by  my  excel- 
lent hostess  and  her  friends.  We  rambled  about, 
laughed,  and  talked,  till  the  declining  sun  warned  us 
to  take  our  way  homeward.  It  was  dark  when  we 
reached  Lawn  Villa,  tired  yet  charmed. 

A  few  days  after,  we  who  had  thus  enjoyed  the 
amenities  of  social  Hfe  together,  separated,  and  since 
that  summer  our  paths  have  never  crossed.  So  it  is  in 
life;  we  meet,  we  touch  each  other's  hand,  we  mingle 
in  scenes  of  conviviality.  We  blend  our  sympathies 
in  the  peaceful  pleasures  of  home,  and  then  parting 
become  like  utter  strangers.  But,  if  in  the  lapse  of 
years  we  chance  to  meet  again,  the  eyes  sparkle,  smiles 
play  round  the  lips,  and  hand  grasps  hand  in  friend- 
ship; for  the  summer  warmth  comes  back  to  the  heart 
again. 


A   CLUSTER   OF   ROSES.  Ill 


To  Mr.  Chamberlain,  my  tried  and  faithful  friend,  these 

HUMBLE  effusions  ARE  GRATEFULLY  DEDICATED. 

Dear  Friend  : — Your  unwearied  kindness  shed 
around  my  path  the  sunshine  of  perpetual  joy.  In 
the  spring-time  of  my  life  it  caused  the  buds  of 
hope  to  bloom  in  my  soul,  unblighted  by  harsh  words, 
or  the  more  chilling  breath  of  cold  indifference. 

Perchance  'tis  strange,  yes,  very  strange. 

That  one  who  ne'er  has  seen, 
Should  dare  portray  the  varied  change 
.  Of  flower  and  herbage  green. 

But  self-conceit  deludes  the  throng ; 

Presumption,  too,  of  late, 
Puts  forth  her  title  to  a  song. 

Unmindful  of  its  fate. 

Each  sounds  his  own  loud  trump  of  fame, 

And  feels  himself  a  man, 
And  gathers  laurels  for  his  name 

As  brilliant  as  he  can. 


112  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

Therefore,  with  kindly  heart,  forgive 

Presumptuous  little  me, 
Who,  from  the  book  of  Nature  bright, 

Aspires  to  read  to  thee. 


SPRING. 

Now  Nature  is  tuning  her  wild  harp  again ; 

Young  Spring  cometh  forth  with  her  burden  of  flow- 
ers; 
The  sunbeams  are  peeping  in  valley  and  glen, 

And  the  wood-thrush  and  cuckoo  are  chiming  the 
hours. 

The  earth  is  enrobing  herself,  with  delight, 

In  her  mantle  of  green,  and  the  ice  bids  good-bye ; 

The  cattle  lie  down,  while  the  lab'rer  looks  bright. 
For  the  smile  of  contentment  is  gladd'ning  his  eye. 

And  the  children  halloo  as  they  hurry  away. 

Over  meadow  and  fence,  to  the  wide-spreading  tree; 

They  are  laughing  and  singing,  for  health's  rosy  ray 
Is  mantling  each  cheek  gaily  dimpled  with  glee. 

And  rolling  on  high  are  the  silver  clouds  seen, 

While  the  landscape  is  glowing  with  purple  and  gold; 

How  sweet  to  repose  'neath  the  wild  leafy  screen. 
While  the  shepherd  is  calling  his  lambs  to  the  fold ! 

And  crocus  and  primrose,  with  each  genial  morn, 
Are  op'ning  their  charms  to  the  sun's  burning  kiss ; 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  113 

And  each  vernal  shower  is  a  benison,  born 
To  gladden  the  earth  with  its  virginal  bliss. 

There's  joy  on  the  mountain,  there's  joy  in  the  vale, 
There's  joy  in  the  bloom  of  each  scented  parterre. 

There's  joy  in  the  sunshine,  there's  joy  in  the  gale. 
There's  joy  to  the  aged,  the  young,  and  the  fair. 


SPRING. 

Spring  is  the  aurora  of  hope,  peeping  into  the  heart's 
most  secret  depths,  and  waking,  with  no  unskilful 
hand,  its  sleeping  chords  to  sweetest  harmony,  ere  its 
purer  emotions  are  contaminated  by  the  touch  of 
earthly  selfishness.  '  Tis  the  halo  of  life,  gathering 
radiance  with  the  decline  of  each  successive  year. 
And  age,  poor  trembling  age,  feels  the  vigor  of  youth 
rekindle  in  its  bosom,  as  anon  it  re-enters  this  golden 
season. 


SUMMER. 

'Tis  the  balmy  air  of  evening 

Playing  with  the  nodding  flowers. 

While  the  whippoorwill  is  singing 
Far  remote  in  woodland  bowers. 

Homeward  turns  the  cheerful  laborer, 


114  A    CLUSTER    OF   ROSES. 

While  his  children  throng  the  door, 
Waiting  for  a  father's  blessing, 

For  his  loving  kiss  once  more. 
Love  and  Friendship  twine  the  chaplet 

Meet  to  grace  his  weary  brow; 
In  his  elbow-chair  reclining. 

Ah  !  what  harm  can  reach  him  now  ? 
Hark  !  their  song  of  praise  is  swelling 

On  the  silent  air  of  even. 
Far  the  golden  stars  out-soaring, 

Floating  to  the  gates  of  Heaven. 
With  the  morn's  resplendent  brightness 

Beauteous  flowers  are  opening  new. 
Rose  and  lily,  pink  and  hawthorn, 

Jessamine  and  violet  blue. 
In  the  pleasant  hush  of  evening. 

Oh  !  how  sweet  to  meditate 
On  the  joys  reserved  in  Heaven 

For  the  soul  immaculate. 
Yes,  the  golden  tints  of  Summer 

Cheer  us  on  life's  rugged  road; 
'Tis  the  time  for  holy  musing, 

When  the  heart  goes  up  to  God. 


SUMMER. 

Spring,  with  its  array  of  bright  dreams  and  golden 
visions,  has  passed;  and  Summer,  the  noontide  of  the 
soul,  bright,  balmy  and  beautiful,  has  come.  The  grate- 
ful heart  expands  with  admiration,  while  contemplating 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  115 

the  infinite  wisdom  and  wonderful  skill  of  the  benefi- 
cent Creator  of  heaven  and  earth.  All  nature  teems 
with  loveliness,  and  conveys  a  lesson  of  deepest  import 
to  the  human  soul.  Happy  are  they  who  purchase  the 
pearl  of  great  price  ere  the  cold  winds  of  Autumn,  or 
the  Winter  of  eternal  death,  palsy  the  fingers  and  still 
the  heart  forever  !  How  acceptable  to  God  is  the  free- 
will offering  of  young  and  tender  hearts  !  Them  will 
the  Shepherd  of  Israel  lead,  through  the  green  pastures 
of  hope,  up  to  the  distant  hills  of  Life  ;  and  the  golden 
gates  of  the  New  Jerusalem  shall  open,  with  the  sound 
of  sweet  music,  to  their  call. 

AUTUMN. 

The  soothing  breeze  that  fanned  the  wanderer's  cheek, 
And  stole  the  fragrance  from  the  Summer  flowers. 
Has  died  away — 'tis  Nature's  burial. 
The  frost-king's  glittering  chariot  rolls  by, 
And  beauty  vanisheth  beneath  its  wheels  ! 
The  matin  songs  of  merry  birds  are  hushed. 
And  tuneful  Echo's  mournful  tones  alone 
Recall  the  memory  of  that  golden  time. 
The  winged  winds,  that  dolefully  along 
.  Old  ocean  sweep,  its  crested  billows  toss 
In  fury  wild;  then,  playing  with  their  foam, 
Sink  down,  far  down,  to  coral  caves  unknown, 
Where  glide  the  mermaids  in  their  shell-built  boats, 
Or  ^olus  greet  among  his  caverned  isles; 


116  A  clustp:r  of  roses. 

Then  rock  the  forest  Hke  a  cradled  child, 
Making  sad  wailing  'mong  the  leafless  trees. 
The  rugged  pines  in  majesty  sublime 
Bow  their  high  heads  before  the  lightning's  stroke, 
And  dead  leaves  crackle  'neath  the  traveller's  step. 
All  wear  the  phase  of  melancholy  change. 


AUTUMN. 

Life  is  ebbing  in  its  Autumn-time.  The  bright  de- 
lusions of  its  golden  Spring  have  melted  away  like  the 
morning  dew,  and  the  midday's  sun,  that  with  effulgence 
lighted  up  its  Summer  and  gave  such  brilliancy  to  the 
countless  beauties  of  that  delightful  season,  has  also 
passed;  but  the  calm  serenity  and  holy  peace  with 
which  the  soul  was  filled  still  exists,  and  gentle  friend- 
ship loves  to  soothe  the  evening  hours  of  life.  'Tis 
sweet  to  hear  from  the  lips  of  some  revered  friend  an 
account  of  the  innocent  pleasures  of  lus  childhood,  till 
his  heart  glows  with  ecstasy,  and  he  forgets  for  a  while 
through  what  long  journey  of  time  he  has  travelled — 
forgets  the  eternity  hard  by,  upon  whose  verge  he  stands. 
How  much  of  sorrow,  how  much  of  joy,  how  much  of 
sage  experience,  may  the  lips  of  the  aged  impart  to  the 
young!  The  inspired  Word  commands  us  to  "rise  up 
before  the  hoary  head,"  and  blessed  shall  they  be  who, 
in  the  morning  of  life,  observe  that  sacred  precept. 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  117 


WINTER 


Life  wears  its  brightest,  gayest  phase, 
Though  Winter  wraps  the  passing  days 

In  vest  of  purest  snow ; 
For  friends  long  parted  gather  now, 
And  smiles  illume  each  joy-wreathed  brow, 

And  buds  of  feeling  grow. 

For  flowers  of  never-fading  hue, 

Of  fragrant  breath  and  heavenly  dew, 

Adorn  the  human  soul  ; 
And  purer,  sweeter,  grow  those  flowers. 
When  holy  deeds  and  tears  of  ours 

Deny  the  world's  control : 

When  generous  hearts,  expanding  wide 
With  Christian  love's  all-hallowing  tide, 

Seek  out  the  suffering  poor. 
In  cellars  dark,  in  garrets  lone. 
When  fitfully  the  wind's  sad  moan 

Howls  through  the  broken  door. 

The  frost-gemmed  windows,  to  the  light. 
Of  varied  forms  and  fancies  bright 

Tell  tales  of  joy  the  while ; 
The  honest  farmer's  holiday, 
White  Winter  rules  with  cheerful  sway, 

And  charms  with  geniab smile. 

And  tinkling  bells  are  heard  afar, 
While  mildly  beams  the  evening  star 


118  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

On  the  glad  throng  below  ; 
The  harmless  jest  and  merry  song, 
And  gleeful  laugh  that  floats  along, 

Tell  of  the  young  heart's  glow. 


CLOSE. 

We  have  seen  how  each  season  presents  a  charm 
peculiar  to  itself.  P>ery  variation  of  climate,  every 
variety  of  scenery,  is  fraught  with  beauties  which  de- 
light the  eye  and  gratify  the  heart.  Dear  and  much- 
loved  friends  !  in  the  spring  of  rapture,  in  the  summer 
of  peaceful  quiet,  in  the  autumn  of  disappointment, 
and  in  the  winter  of  ease — in  your  fatherly  counsel  my 
weakness  found  strength,  in  your  unwearied  kindness 
my  grief  a  solace. 

What  is  death?  Death,  to  the  Christian,  is  the 
opening  of  the  gates  of  light.  The  soul  wins  the  goal 
for  which  it  so  long  and  tirelessly  struggled  while  on 
earth,  and  the  brow  is  encircled  with  a  golden  crown 
of  glory.  Friend  of  my  soul !  perchance  by  the  wa- 
ters of  life  we  may  meet,  and  talk  of  the  joys  and  sor- 
rows of  this  nether  world.  Till  life's  fading  evening 
shall  waft  thy  worn  and  weary  heart  to  the  haven  of 
everlasting  rest,  may  Peace,  celestial  Peace,  be  the 
guest  of  thy  bosom  ! 


A  clustp:r  of  roses.  119 


jlIBtlintt'$  ¥j|tkb, 


ON  THE  ANNOUNCEMENT  OF  A  FRIEND  S  ENGAGEMENT. 

There  is  joy  for  thee  in  the  morning  sky, 

In  the  brook  as  it  dances  merrily  by, 

In  the  robin  and  cuckoo  that  sing  in  the  tree; 

There  is  joy  in  the  flowers,  for  they  speak  to  thee 

Of  beauty  and  fragrance  transcendently  bright, 

Of  the  rainbow  of  love  that  makes  life  all  light. 

There's  joy  in  the  glances,  the  smiles  of  thy  home; 

Joy  in  the  friends  who  about  thee  come; 

In  the  beautiful  stars  as  they  gleam  on  the  sight. 

There's  joy  in  the  moonbeams  so  pure  and  white: 

All  voices  of  nature  have  joy  for  thee. 

For  love  thrills  thee  through  with  divine  harmony. 

The  joy  will  be  lasting,  if  only  thou  tread 
In  the  footsteps  of  Jesus,  our  Saviour  and  head; 
Will  glint  through  the  shadows  of  sorrow's  deep  night, 
Illumine  life's  changes  with  sunshine  and  light: 
And  at  even  thy  soul's  sweetest  music  will  be — 
I  have  lived  to  my  Saviour — he  liveth  in  me. 


120  A    CLUSTER    OF   ROSES. 


LINES 

WRITTEN    AFTER    AN    ANNIVERSARY    AT    THE    HOME. 

[The  day  was  dark  and  stormy  ;  but  when  they  led  me 
forth  to  pronounce  my  address,  the  sun  came  out  and  shone 
while  I  was  speaking,  for  the  first  and  only  time  during  the 
day.     This  I  called  my  Heavenly  Father's  smile.] 

I  could  not  see  it,  Father — 

Thy  smile  so  warm  and  bright; 
I  could  not" gaze  enraptured — 

These  orbs  are  veiled  in  night. 
But  it  thrilled  my  inmost  being 

With  joy's  exquisite  tone, 
To  know  thy  smile  was  on  me, 

That  I  was  not  alone. 

And  oh  !  how  bright  and  beautiful 

That  smile  will  seem  to  me, 
In  the  deep,  dark  gloom  of  midnight. 

When  only  thou  canst  see ; 
Or  in  the  morn  resplendent 

With  gold  and  crimson  hues. 
When  flowers  first  open  to  the  sun 

Their  petals  bright  with  dews. 

When  grief  or  bitter  anguish 

Lies  heavy  on  this  heart. 
The  memory  of  my  Father's  smile 

Will  oil  and  wine  impart ; 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  121 

'  Twill  heal  the  wound  though  blading, 

'  Twill  nerve  the  soul  to  bear 
The  cross  of  every  poignant  pang, 

Of  every  needed  care. 

I  thank  thee,  Heavenly  Father, 

For  thy  dear  and  welcome  smile; 
It  is  the  sunbeam  of  my  soul, 

It  cheers  me  all  the  while. 
And  when  life's  cares  are  over, 

When  faith  is  changed  to  sight, 
I'll  bless  thee,  Father,  for  thy  smile 

That  made  the  darkness  light. 


THE     BIBLE. 

Though  life  seems  like  a  fairy  dream. 
And  roseate  hope's  delusive  beam 
Paints  earth  with  radiant  hues  of  light. 
And  robes  each  thing  with  beauty  bright. 
These  glittering  charms  must  pass  away— 
Turn  to  thy  Bible,  turn  and  pray. 

Its  words  of  love  by  God  were  given, 
To  win  his  earth-born  sons  to  heaven. 
Ephemeral  joys  too  quickly  die. 
And  clouds  obscure  thy  brilliant  sky; 
Thou  hast  a  refuge  in  that  day — 
Turn  to  thy  Bible,  turn  and  pray. 


122  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

The  peace  of  God,  a  joy  divine, 

One  promised  hope  will  still  be  thine. 

The  hope  of  Heaven's  celestial  light 

More  brightly  shines  through  sorrow's  night; 

It  gems  with  ever-glorious  ray 

Thy  blessed  Bible — turn  and  pray. 

It  bids  the  heart  by  grief  oppressed 
Its  burden  cast  on  Jesus'  breast; 
It  sends  despairing  thoughts  afar. 
By  the  pure  light  of  Bethlehem's  star. 
From  sin  and  sorrow  turn  away; 
Turn  to  thy  Bible,  read  and  pray. 

Learn  to  endure,  to  wait,  to  trust; 
Thy  God  is  merciful  and  just. 
Nor  will  he  leave  his  helpless  one 
Forsaken,  desolate,  and  lone; 
No,  cheered  by  faith's  inspiring  ray, 
Turn  to  thy  Bible,  read  and  pray. 

Let  faith  thy  fearful  steps  illume, 
Reflect  its  glory  round  the  tomb; 
The  gates  of  Heaven  unbarred  shall  be, 
Thou  shalt  thy  God,  thy  Saviour,  see. 
Thy  Bible  speaks — it  points  the  way; 
Turn  to  thy  Bible,  read  and  pray. 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  123 


LINES 

ON    THE    DEATH    OF    A    SON    OF    ALONZO    R.    CUSHMAN, 
AGED    THIRTEEN. 

I  know  your  bleeding  hearts 

Are  agonized  with  pain  ; 
The  young,  the  cherished  one  departs, 

And  comes  not  back  again. 

Those  mild,  soft  words  of  his 

Woke  love's  exquisite  thrill  ; 
His  winning  smile,  his  last  fond  kiss, 

Play  round  your  heart-strings  stiU. 

One  less  to  glad  the  ear ; 

One  less  to  charm  the  sight  ; 
One  less  to  breathe  his  evening  prayer. 

To  say  to  all  "good  night." 

And  ever  and  anon 

Will  dear  mementos  come 
Of  your  dead  child,  your  darling  one — 

The  sunbeam  of  your  home. 

Those  tears  kept  back  by  grief 

Will  in  the  heart  sink  down ; 
Jesus  alone  can  give  relief. 

He  wore  th,^  thorny  crown. 

He  wept  as  now  ye  weep  ; 
He  knows  the  weight  of  woe, 


124  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

The  torturing  pangs  that  will  not  sleep, 
That  rend  your  bosoms  so. 

These  are  the  hours  most  fraught 

With  tender  love  divine  ; 
The  souls  with  precious  ransom  bought, 

Ere  with  the  Lord  they  shine, 

Must  feel  the  thorns  of  earth, 
Ere  reaching  heavenly  peace, 

The  rapture  of  a  holier  birth, 
A  love  that  cannot  cease. 

So  young,  of  bliss  the  heir ! 

Oh  !  is  it  not  sweet  joy 
To  know  that  taint  of  sin  can  ne'er 

Pollute  your  darling  boy.'' 

He  might  not  linger  here, 

God's  holy  will  is  best ; 
Gone  from  temptation's  hidden  snare. 

Gone  from  the  world's  unrest. 

In  faith  go  hand  in  hand, 
Kneel  to  the  Saviour  mild. 

And  see  among  yon  glittering  band. 
Your  own  beloved  child, 

Gathering  the  flowers  most  fair 
That  g£m  his  home  of  light; 

His  glorious  home  ye  too  may  share. 
When  faith  is  changed  to  sight. 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  125 


SEVENTEEN   YEARS. 

Seventeen  years  of  heavenly  fruitage, 
Golden  with  the  wealth  of  love, 

Fragrant  with  affection's  incense, 
Leave  us  naught  but  joy  to  prove  : 

Closer,  closer,  is  the  tie 

That  we  knit  in  years  gone  by. 

Seventeen  years,  love  !  see  our  treasures, 
Three  in  number,  near  us  play. 

Yielding  strength  and  giving  gladness. 
Casting  sunbeams  on  our  way. 

One  is  with  the  angels  singing, 

Where  the  flowers  of  life  are  springing. 

Seventeen  years — Oh  !  may  we  linger 

Longer  by  each  other's  side. 
For  our  hearts  will  be  as  youthful 

As  the  day  you  were  my  bride. 
Winter's  snows  cannot  destroy 
Love's  perennial  flowers  of  joy. 

May  the  path  that  lies  before  us 
Be  like  that  our  lives  have  seen ; 

May  our  lambs  be  led  by  Jesus 

Through  his  pastures  fresh  and  green; 

We  our  strength  as  weakness  own, 

We  must  supplicate  the  throne. 

Supplicate  from  God  our  Saviour 
Wisdom  as  we  pass  along. 


126  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

That  their  souls  may  be  enlightened, 

Be  in  virtue  firm  and  strong  ; 
That  in  man  and  womanhood 
They  may  be  the  truly  good. 

Thus  their  lives  will  be  immortal, 
Thus  our  own  with  theirs  may  blend. 

Standing  near  the  God  of  glory 
At  whose  footstool  low  we  bend ; 

This  will  far  o'erpay  the  years 

Spent  for  them  in  works  and  prayers. 


THE   ANNIVERSARY  OF  A  MOTHER'S 
DEATH. 

I  woke  from  sleep's  enchantment, 

The  tears  were  falling  fast; 
Oh!  I  was  weeping,  mother. 

Was  weeping  o'er  the  past. 
I  kissed  my  hand,  dear  mother, 

And  thought  how  sweet  'twould  be, 
To  feel  once  more  upon  my  brow 

One  loving  kiss  from  thee. 

'Tis  but  a  year,  sweet  mother, 

Since  I  knelt  beside  thy  bed. 
And  held  thine  icy  hand  in  mine. 

But  I  could  not  think  thee  dead! 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  127 

I  kissed  thy  brow,  my  mother, 

Closed  thy  dear  eyes  the  while, 
That  morn  and  night  were  wont  to  greet 

Thy  child  with  love's  sweet  smile. 

Oh!  I  am  weeping,  mother! 

'Tis  but  a  year  ago 
I  heard  the  murmuring  cadence 

Of  thy  voice  so  sweet  and  low — 
"  I  leave  thee  to  thy  Saviour, 

My  darling  and  my  joy; 
Thy  God  will  be  thy  father. 

My  own  beloved  boy." 

Oh!  would,  my  angel  mother, 

Thou  couldst  look  down  from  Heaven, 
And  see  how  fraught  with  blessings 

Are  the  precepts  thou  hast  given! 
Far  sweeter  than  earth's  music 

Were  thy  words  of  love  to  me; 
Dearer  than  soft  Eolian  tones, 

Or  richest  harmony. 

'Tis  but  a  year,  sweet  mother. 

Since  I  knelt  beside  thy  bed, 
And  caught  thy  last,  faint,  quivering  breath. 

And  sobbed  out,  "  She  is  dead!  " 
And  thou  art  dead,  sweet  mother. 

But  not  to  me, — Oh  no! 
A  love  so  pure,  so  strong  as  thine, 

Eternal  years  must  know. 


128  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 


HARRY'S  BRIDAL  MORN. 

Joy  to  thee,  Harry  !  exquisitely  sweet 

Is  the  sunbeam  of  love,  as  it  plays  round  thy  heart ; 
With  rapture  unbounded  this  rosy  morn  greet. 

For  it  brings  to  thee  one  that  will  nevermore  part — 

That  will  nevermore  part  from  the  shelter  of  love 
She  finds  in  thy  presence,  she  finds  at  thy  side ; 

'Twill  be  thy  blest  lot  through  life's  journey  to  prove 
The  wealth  of  affection  that  lives  in  thy  bride. 

As  her  soft  eye  confidingly  turns  up  to  thine, 
'  Tis  rapturous  delight  her  protector  to  be. 

To  cause  o'er  her  pathway  bright  blessings  to  shine, 
As  together  ye  glide  o'er  life's  changeable  sea. 

May  she  solace  each  sorrow,  and  sweeten  each  joy. 
That  ye  share  as  through  life's  checkered  pathway 
ye  go ; 

Till  ye  drink  the  sweet  waters  that  never  will  cloy. 
From  the  River  of  Life,  which  forever  must  flow, 

Through  the  regions  of  glory,  where  dazzlingly  bright 
The  Father  is  seated,  the  home  of  the  blest ; 

Where  with  lustre  unchanging  the  Lamb's  holy  light 
Is  shining  forever — the  haven  of  rest. 


A   CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  129 

ON  THE  DEATH  OF  THE  SON  AND  DAUGH- 
TER OF  THE  REV.  MR.  OLSSEN. 

Two  beauteous  flowers  that  graced  parental  love 
And  earth  perfumed,  have  withered  side  by  side, 

And  crushed  hearts  bow  submissively  to  prove 
God's  holy  will,  and  yet  by  faith  abide. 

They  would  not  ask  why  these  sweet  flowers  were  given 
To  bloom  so  brightly,  then  to  fade  away; 

Why  the  strong  tie  of  pure  deep  love  was  riven. 
Why  they  who  gladdened  might  not  longer  stay! 

No ;  'tis  not  ours  to  ask  our  Father  God 

Why  fades  the  bright,  why  sinks  the  glowing  sun; 

But  like  our  Lord  to  walk  the  rough  straight  road, 
And  learn  like  him  to  say,  "Thy  will  be  done." 

Brother  and  sister  might  not  parted  be; 

They  kissed,  and  laid  them  down  to  death's  last  sleep; 
Sweet  flowers  are  nestling  'neath  the  sheltering  tree, 

And  o'er  their  graves  love's  tender  vigils  keep. 

These  little  ones  repose  on  Jesus'  breast, 
Or  walk  transported  'mid  the  fields  of  light; 

In  his  white  robes  of  righteousness  are  dressed. 

And  tune  their  harps  where  faith  is  changed  to  sight. 

They  closer  bind  to  their  angelic  home 

Those  stricken  hearts,  bleeding  at  every  pore: 

Sweet  voices  seem  to  whisper,  "  Mother,  come — 
Father,  look  up  and  weep  for  us  no  more." 


130  A   CLUSTER   Of   ROSES. 

Oh  !  how  these  well-remembered  voices  cheer 
Their  fainting  footsteps !     How  they  charm  away 

The  heart's  keen  anguish  and  the  gushing  tear, 
And  strength  is  given  to  live  another  day. 

And  as  they  walk,  by  trusting  faith  illumed 
And  memories  of  the  past,  the  fragrant  breath 

Of  the  sweet  flowers  that  on  their  bosoms  bloomed 
Will  soothe  their  progress  to  the  gates  of  death. 


FRIENDSHIP'S   WHISPERS. 

In  the  hush  of  evening  when  the  stars  are  bright, 
When  the  flowers  are  whisp'ring  to  the  earth  good-night, 
When  the  birds  are  sleeping  on  yon  maple  tree. 
Then  my  heart  is  keeping  thoughts  of  thee. 

When  the  beams  of  morning  dissipate  the  night, 
When  the  streams  are  dancing  in  the  sun's  glad  light. 
When  the  woodland  songsters  make  their  minstrelsy, 
Then  my  heart  is  keeping  thoughts  of  thee. 

When  the  holy  Sabbath,  by  Jehovah  blest, 
Bringeth  to  the  weary  peacefulness  and  rest, 
When  the  bell  is  sounding  over  hill  and  lea, 
Then  my  heart  is  keeping  thoughts  of  thee. 

When  the  pealing  organ  floats  along  the  air, 
When  the  people's  voices  blend  in  praise  and  prayer. 
Or  in  meek  confession  humbly  bend  the  knee, 
Then  my  heart  is  keeping  thoughts  of  thee. 


A   CLUsTEk   OF   ROSES.  131 

In  the  still  dark  moments  when  the  angels  come 
On  their  wings  of  glory  from  their  heavenly  home, 
When  the  Saviour  bids  them  softly  speak  to  me, 
Then  my  heart  is  keeping  thoughts  of  thee. 

I  cannot  forget  thee  as  I  pass  along, 
Catching  moans  of  sorrow  or  the  voice  of  song ; 
For  our  souls  have  mingled,  oh!  so  pleasantly. 
And  my  heart  is  keeping  thoughts  of  thee. 


THE  FALL  OF  THE  DINNER-POT. 

To  all  who  have  an  hour  to  spend, 

I'll  sing  a  little  song  * 
Please  promise  me  you  will  not  smile, 

When  told  it  can't  be  long. 

Of  death,  of  loss  of  property. 

Of  blighted  hope  and  love ; 
Of  friends  that  coil  around  the  heart. 

And  then  deceptive  prove  ? 

Ah  !  there  are  hues  of  darker  shade 
Reserved  for  each  poor  sinner  ; 

But  none  their  withering  blast  can  know 
Who  has  not  lost  his  dinner ! 

Seated  in  social  converse  sweet, 

The  hours  fled  quickly  past : 
And  oft  we  turned,  in  hope  to  hear 

The  dinner-bell  at  last. 


13S  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

And  as  the  kitchen  door  would  ope, 

Was  the  olfactory  nerve 
Aye  greeted  by  a  savory  smell, 

Which  would  as  whetstone  serv^ 

Of  appetite.     Table  and  chairs 

All  in  their  places  stood, 
And  needed  but  their  occupants 

And  stores  of  savory  food. 

What  means  that  loud,  tremendous  crash  ? 

Why  startle  with  affright.^ 
Why  stands  aghast  yon  trembling  girl. 

With  lips  so  ashy  white? 

"Ah  me!  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  P., 

"  Ours  is  a  woful  lof ; 
An  accident — our  careful  girl's 

Upset  the  dinner-pot. 

Yes  ;  there's  a  most  delicious  stew 

Lies  strewn  along  the  floor  ! 
I'm  sure  those  boards  have  never  known 

Such  feasting  times  before." 

Each  to  the  other  comfort  spoke, 
For,  from  a  bounteous  store. 

An  humbler  meal  the  table  graced  : 
We  ate,  and  laughed  once  more. 

And  all  agreed  with  one  accord 

That  we'd  forget  it  not, — 
The  day  on  which  our  hopes  fell  down 

With  that  said  dinner-pot. 


A   CLUSTER   OF    ROSfiS.  .  133 


DIRGE  OF   LIFE. 

Life  is  mournful,  life  is  dreary, 
And  my  heart  is  sick  and  weary. 
For  the  rainbow  hopes  of  years 
Suddenly  dissolve  in  tears; 

And  my  heart  is  sick  and  weary. 

Poor,  forsaken,  crushed,  and  lonely. 
Sighing  as^the  night-winds  only. 
Wrapped  in  deep  Cimmerian  gloom, 
I  am  passing  to  the  tomb ; 

And  my  heart  is  sick  and  weary. 

Shrinking  from  the  dread  to-morrow. 
For  the  cold  black  waves  of  sorrow 
Lift  their  angry  foam  on  high. 
Then  I  murmur,  let  me  die, 

For  my  heart  is  sick  and  weary. 


FRIENDSHIP'S   PRAYER 

FOR    MRS.    RUSSELL    AND    HER    FAMILY,    ON    THEIR 
DEPARTURE    FOR    EUROPE. 

Take  her.  Father,  in  thy  keeping. 

Bid  thine  angels  near  her  be, 
While  her  loved  ones  round  are  sleeping 

On  the  dark  and  treacherous  sea ; 
Tenderly  thy  hand-maid  guide 
O'er  the  waste  of  waters  wide. 


IM  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSElS. 

May  she  cull  the  sweetest  flowers 
Thou  dost  give  thy  children  here; 

In  those  bright  and  jewelled  hours, 
May  she  know  that  thou  art  near; 

Lovingly,  O  Father,  be 

Guardian  of  the  cherished  three! 

In  the  valley,  on  the  mountain, 
In  the  grove,  or  near  the  stream. 

In  the  dim  wood,  by  the  fountain, 
On  the  lake  in  sunlight  gleam, 

Still,  O  Father,  hear  my  prayer — 

Guard  them  with  thy  tender  care! 

When  they  view  the  great  creations 
Of  the  mighty  now  in  dust. 

And  the  sepulchre  of  nations 

Who  made  not  the  Lord  their  trust. 

May  their  souls  adore  and  bless 

Thee,  the  God  of  righteousness, 

For  the  noble  land  where  learning 
Freely  to  the  poor  is  given, 

Where  no  fettered  soul  is  turning 
With  its  weight  of  woe  to  Heaven; 

But  the  torch  of  freedom  bright 

Burns  with  steadfast,  glorious  light. 

May  they  drink  in  nature's  treasures. 
Revel  in  the  wealth  of  art. 

Join  in  genial  social  pleasures, 
Gather  sunbeams  from  the  heart: 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  135 

Still,  O  Father,  hear  my  prayer — 
Let  them  be  thy  constant  care! 

Bring  them  back  in  peace  and  gladness. 

When  the  autumn  tints  appear. 
With  their  hearts  untouched  by  sadness, 

•To  the  friends  who  wait  them  here: 
Bring  them  safely  o'er  the  main. 
Father,  back  to  us  again! 


IN    MEMORIAM 

ISAAC    D.    RUSSELL. 
Even  so,  Father,  for  so  it  seemeth  good  in  thy  sight." 

Even  so.  Father,  let  it  be. 

Though  hearts  bereaved  are  sore  and  bleeding, 
Though  in  the  dark  no  light  we  see 

And  weakness  for  thy  strength  is  pleading; 
Yet  as  it  seemeth  good  to  thee. 
Even  so,  Father,  let  it  be. 

He  was  a  day-spring — more — a  light. 
So  warm,  so  genial,  kind,  and  tender; 

His  living  made  our  lives  more  bright. 
His  holy  deeds  we'll  long  remember; 

Now  God  will  have  him  all  his  own. 

Whose  deeds  perfumed  his  radiant  throne. 

He  suffered  meekly,  patiently. 

And  murmuring  word  was  never  spoken; 


136  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

He  bore  heart-anguish  silently, 

Though  one  by  one  hope's  flowers  were  broken ; 
Serene  as  summer  there  he  lay, 
And  wore  his  strength,  his  life  away. 

They  bore  him  to  his  city  home, 

While  child's  and  mother's  heart  were  breaking; 
Yet  would  faith's  soothing  whisper  come, 

This  is  his  soul's  eternal  waking; 
'  Tis  with  the  Lord  of  life  and  light. 
Who  conquered  death's  all-conquering  might. 

Let  him  repose  on  earth's  green  breast; 

Above  will  summer  birds  be  singing, 
Where  golden  sunbeams  love  to  rest 

And  beauteous  flowers  their  sweets  are  flinging; 
Soft  let  the  earth  upon  him  fall, 
For  widowed  love  has  lost  its  all. 

The  sounds  her  quivering  heart-strings  tear, 
How  could  a  tie  so  strong  e'er  sever  ? 

Oh !  must  she  turn  and  leave  him  there. 
Whose  life  seemed  one  with  hers  forever  ? 

Yet  earth-rent  ties  are  knit  in  Heaven, 

For  Jesus  died  and  light  is  given. 

Father,  they  own  thy  guidance  right. 

They  feel  thy  ways  are  ways  of  blessing; 

They  know  the  night  precedes  the  light. 
And,  thy  deep  love  their  souls  possessing. 

In  humble  resignation  stay 

Till  night  dissolves  in  perfect  day. 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  137 

TRUST  IN  GOD. 

DEDICATED    TO    MRS.    MILLNER. 

Never  weary  in  the  path 

Our  dear  Lord  and  Saviour  trod; 
Let  the  glorious  torch  of  faith, 
Burning  with  undying  ray, 
Be  thy  guide  o'er  life's  rough  way — 

It  will  lead  thee  safe  to  God. 

Never  let  thy  courage  die, 

Though  temptations  round  thee  throng. 
Lift  aloft  thy  timid  eye ! 
See,  the  pitying  Saviour  stands, 
Nerving  hearts  and  strengthening  hands. 

Though  the  stormy  winds  be  strong, 

Faith  in  God  is  stronger  yet: 

Armed  with  his  celestial  might, 
Heir  of  glory,  ne'er  forget. 
Though  the  furious  breakers  wild 
O'er  thee  dash,  thou  art  his  child, 

And  shalt  conquer  in  the  fight. 

Walk  in  faith  submissively 

To  thy  Father's  wiser  will; 
Let  his  love  thy  magnet  be. 
Though  thy  bleeding  heart  be  torn, 
Though  no  ray  of  hope  be  born. 

Trusting  heart,  be  still,  be  still ! 


138  A    CLUSTER   OF    ROSES. 

Never  heed  the  tempest's  roar, 
Never  heed  though  empires  fall; 

Trust  Jehovah  as  of  yore — 

At  his  fiat  nations  move; 

In  the  plenitude  of  love, 
God  is  ruling  over  all ! 

Though  thy  way  be  veiled  in  night, 
Though  no  ray  thine  eye  can  see, 
He  can  lead  thee  to  the  light : 
He  with  watchful  tender  care 
Numbers  every  single  hair; 
Can  that  God  forgetful  be? 

Father,  God,  thy  will  be  done ! 

Though  the  chastening  rod  be  given, 
I  will  trust  and  struggle  on; 
Only  let  thy  pitying  love. 
Father,  sometimes  from  above 

Cheer  me  with  a  glimpse  of  Heaven. 

Father,  God,  thy  will  be  done, 
If  through  suffering  patiently 

Glory's  crown  at  last  be  won ! 

Let  my  soul's  adornments  be 

Patience,  love,  humility — 
Give  the  path  of  tears  to  me. 


A    CLUSTER   OF    ROSES. 


WELCOMK   HOME. 


139 


Welcome  from  the  rifting  sea, 
Darling  of  thy  home,  once  more  ! 

Loving  hearts  have  pined  for  thee, 
Welcome  to  the  scenes  of  yore ; 

Light  and  love  about  thee  come, 

Jenny,  Jenny,  welcome  home  ! 

Welcome  to  the  trusting  love 
That  to  thee  thy  kindred  bear. 

To  the  earnest  words  that  prove 
All  their  tenderness  and  care  ; 

Welcome,  nevermore  to  roam — 

Jenny,  Jenny,  welcome  home  ! 

Welcome  !  for  thy  voice,  thy  smile. 
Are  as  sunbeams  ever  bright ; 

Soothing  sympathy  the  while 

Makes  the  deepest  darkness  light : 

Radiant  hopes  thy  path  illume — 

Jenny,  Jenny,  welcome  home  ! 

Welcome  !  for  thy  heart  is  ours. 
And  our  strength  shall  be  thy  stay; 

Pure  affection's  holiest  flowers 
Are  not  destined  to  decay  : 

Young  and  old  around  thee  come — 

Jenny,  Jenny,  welcome  home  ! 


140  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 


THE   GOLDEN   WEDDING. 

A  poem  recited  at  the  fiftieth  anniversary  of  the  wedding  of 
Mr.  and  Mrs,  Floyd  Smith,  May  23,  1862. 

Pure  affection's  fond  devotion 

Thrills  each  glowing  heart  to-night ; 

Rapture's  holy  high  emotion 
Kindles  warm  ecstatic  light; 

For  the  angelic  throngs  on  high 
Bless  this  fair  sight. 

Fifty  years  since  at  the  altar 

Stood  a  young  and  joyous  bride. 

Could  those  heaven-breathed  vows  e'er  falter, 
As  ye  wandered  side  by  side  ? 

No;  the  Lord  of  life  and  love 
Was  made  your  guide. 

Fifty  years — how  swift,  how  fleeting ! 

Now  they  seem  but  as  a  day ; 
Fifty  years — and  still  ye're  keeping 

Love's  sweet  vigil  o'er  life's  way, 
Sharing  joys  and  sharing  sorrows 
While  here  ye  stay. 

Ye  behold  your  children's  children, 
Jewelled  links  of  heavenly  love, 

Sparkling  as  the  gems  of  morning, 
Fresh  from  God's  dear  hand  above. 

Gathering  gaily  round  your  hearth-stone 
And  whispering  love. 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  143 

Sleep,  dear  ones,  in  your  shell-formed  bed, 
Till  God's  omniscient  voice  ye  hear; 

Then,  ocean,  earth,  yield  up  your  dead, 
Christ  the  Redeemer,  Saviour,  's  near. 

Bind  up  the  wounded,  broken  heart. 
Dear  Lord,  our  comforter  and  stay; 

Bid  each  regretful  thought  depart, 
And  chase  the  gloom  of  grief  away. 


TRIBUTE  TO  THE   MEMORY  OF  THE   REV. 
DR.    TURNER. 

A  great  good  man  has  fallen; 

But  all  his  acts  of  love 
Most  surely  are  recorded 

By  angel  hands  above: 
And  not  one  smile  of  kindness 

Can  ever  pass  away, 
For  sunny  youth  and  hoary  age 

Reflect  its  golden  ray. 

The  church  has  lost  a  treasure; 

But  his  pure  thoughts  will  shine. 
With  never-fading  lustre. 

Far  down  the  vale  of  time. 
Dear,  holy,  happy  Christmas 

Comes  with  its  festive  store ; 
But  the  cypress  shades  the  altar — 

We  see  his  face  no  more. 


144  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

His  scholars  mourn  his  exit; 

They  never  can  forget 
His  words  of  kindly  welcome — 

They  garland  memory  yet. 
'Twas  joy  untold  to  know  him; 

And  knowledge  brighter  shone, 
When  the  flowers  of  his  affection 

Among  its  pearls  were  thrown. 

Oh  !  'twas  a  priceless  blessing 

In  social  life  to  find 
A  friendship  so  ennobling, 

So  constant,  warm,  and  kind ; 
It  tinged  with  hues  of  gladness 

The  dark  and  dreary  hours ; 
It  breathed  celestial  music. 

It  filled  the  heart  with  flowers. 

Let  the  sweet  dew  of  comfort 

Drop,  Father,  from  above. 
On  the  worn  and  anguished  spirits 

Of  the  children  of  his  love ; 
Let  blessed  resignation 

Bid  grief's  dark  waves  be  still. 
And  peace,  O  pitying  Saviour, 

Their  stricken  bosoms  fill! 

Praise  to  thy  name,  Jehovah! 

Faith's  glorious  work  is  done ; 
This  mortal  is  immortal. 

Triumphing  through  thy  Son. 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  141 

Ye  have  taught  the  lyre  to  warble 

Music  from  the  upper  sky; 
In  the  soul's  deep  fount  created 

Golden  thoughts  that  never  die — 
Thoughts  inspired  by  deeds  of  love, 
That  live  for  aye. 

Honored,  loved,  revered,  remembered, 

Shall  your  names  forever  be; 
For  your  hearts  vibrated  sweetly 

To  the  touch  of  sympathy: 
The  forsaken,  desolate, 

Your  crown  shall  be. 

May  your  lives  be  always  golden, 
'Mid  the  sunshine,  'mid  the  rain. 

With  the  dew  of  God's  own  blessing. 
And  the  life  that  lives  again! 

Every  heart  in  this  assemblage 
Responds  "Amen!" 


LINES 

ON    THE    LOSS    OF    THE    STEAMER   ARCTIC. 

A  beauteous  palace  on  the  deep, 

Majestic  glides  its  waters  o'er; 
The  crested  billows  seem  to  sleep. 

Hushed  are  the  storm-winds  by  the  shore. 


142  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

There  sheds  sweet  Hope  her  radiant  light; 

There  youthful  hearts  expectant  beat; 
The  eyes  of  age  grow  strangely  bright, 

While  childhood  feels  its  influence  sweet. 

For  hallowed  thoughts  of  friends  most  dear 
Softer  than  music  o'er  them  come; 

The  father's  kiss,  the  mother's  tear, 
The  husband's  loving  welcome  home. 

Anon,  the  frantic  shriek  of  woe, 

The  deep-toned  groan  of  man's  despair  ! 

Hot,  silent  tears  of  anguish  flow, 

While  Faith  sends  up  the  earnest  prayer. 

The  husband  clasps  his  darling  wife. 
And  fondly  she  her  little  child; 

All  seek  the  blessed  boon  of  life. 
Struggling  amid  the  waters  wild.  . 

Pure  hearts  that  angels  bless  above, 
Fond  eyes  for  others'  woe  that  weep — 

Oh !  what  rich  stores  of  human  love 
Sink  down  forever  in  the  deep ! 

Our  gentle  Anna  sleeping  there, — 

Her  sparkling  eye  and  thoughtful  brow. 

The  low-toned  voice  to  friendship  dear, 
And  kindly  words,  we  hear  them  now. 

We  hear  them  now;  in  memory's  bowers 
They  leave  a  soft  perpetual  bloom; 

The  fragrance  of  those  deathless  flowers 
Gilds  with  immortal  light  the  tomb. 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  147 

Riding  with  the  whirlwind's  fleetness, 

With  the  might  of  manly  will, 
Nothing  daunted,  pressing  onward, 

He  has  gained  the  dangerous  hill. 

Liberty  has  nerved  his  spirit, 

And  its  light  is  in  his  eye: 
"  By  the  Yankee  soul  within  me, 

I'll  be  free,  or  else  I'll  die! 
Never  shall  these  limbs  be  fettered, — 

I  will  conquer  in  the  fight. 
Or  be  lost  in  bloodiest  battle, 

In  the  glorious  cause  of  right." 

Forward  yet  with  strength  unfailing, 

Followed  closely  by  the  foe, 
Down  the  rocky  steps  he  gallops, 

Thundering  to  the  plains  below! 
Halting  on  the  heights,  the  British 

Cry,  "  He's  lost — the  race  is  won !  " 
But  beyond  their  reach,  in  triumph, 

Rides  the  dauntless  hero  on. 

Smiles  irradiate  his  features 

As  he  waves  his  hat  on  high. 
And  his  voice  rings  through  the  distance. 

Bidding  them  a  gay  good-bye. 
Gazing  still,  they  cried,  "We're  baffled!" 

Turned  they  from  the  rock  away. 
Did  they  meet  again  ?     Yes,  often, 

In  the  fierce  and  bloody  fray; 


148  A    CLUSTER   OF    ROSES. 

For  the  earth  was  dyed  with  purple 
E'er  the  dawn  of  freedom's  day. 

Feeble,  few,  yet  firm  and  faithful, 

Was  that  valiant  Pilgrim  band; 
Freely  was  their  life-blood  offered, 

To  defend  their  native  land ; 
Yes,  the  pearl  we  now  are  wearing 

Was  the  purchase  of  their  heart. 
Oh  !  by  all  that  makes  life  precious. 

Never,  never  with  it  part ! 
Let  the  glory  of  its  splendor 

Down  through  coming  ages  dart 

From  its  lustrous  scintillations 
Spring  prosperity  and  might ; 

Guard  it  with  unwearying  vigil, 
Guard  it  as  your  life,  your  light ! 

For,  should  ruthless  hand  destroy  it. 
Sinks  our  land  in  rayless  night. 

Let  no  wily  politician 

Dare  to  dim  its  faintest  ray; 
North  and  South,  in  one  strong  phalanx, 

Rise,  should  secret  foe  betray  ! 
Ye  are  brothers,  for  our  fathers. 

Side  by  side,  to  make  us  free. 
Gave  the  heroes'  holiest  offering. 

Blood  and  life,  for  Liberty. 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  145 

No  more  the  cross  of  suffering, 
But  a  jewelled  crown  most  bright 

Adorns  the  brow  of  the  holy  man, 
Heir  of  eternal  light. 


TO     EMILY. 

May  no  blighting  care  or  sadness 
Cloud  thy  sunny  sky  of  gladness, 

Through  life's  checkered  road; 
But  in  youth's  resplendent  morning. 
With  a  fond  and  tender  yearning. 
May  thy  guileless  heart  be  turning 

To  its  Maker,  God. 

When  life's  winning  smile  is  o'er  thee, 
When  no  shadow  flits  before  thee, 

Then  remember  God; 
When  sweet  friendship's  flowers  are  springing, 
On  thy  soul  their  perfume  flinging, 
When  the  bird  of  hope  is  singing. 

Then  remember  God. 

When  thy  every  day  is  clouded. 
When  thy  joy  in  grief  is  shrouded, 

Then  remember  God ; 
When  sweet  friendship's  flowers  are  dying, 
When  thy  soul  for  rest  is  sighing. 
And  e'en  hope  away  is  flying. 

Then  remember  God. 


146  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

When  thy  heart  with  griefs  o'erflowing, 
Naught  of  earthly  comfort  knowing, 

Then  remember  God ; 
Cast  thy  burden  on  thy  Saviour — 
In  his  kind  and  gracious  favor 
Thou  shalt  find  sweet  comfort  ever : 

Then  remember  God. 

From  thy  sins  he  fain  would  move  thee, 
Yet  with  trials  he  would  prove  thee. 

Then  remember  God ; 
'Neath  the  wings  of  his  protection, 
Let  thy  heart's  deep  warm  affection 
Seek  alone  divine  direction  : 

Oh!  remember  God. 


GENERAL  PUTNAM'S  LEAP. 

[These  thoughts  were  suggested  to  the  writer  while  standing 
on  Putnam's  Hill,  at  Greenwich;  Conn,  .  The  precipitous  flight 
of  steps  down  which  the  General  made  his  escape  on  horse- 
back, has  been  taken  away;  and  it  is  difficult  for  us  at  this  re- 
mote day  to  realize  the  great  peril  of  the  adventure.] 

Rushing  with  the  speed  of  lightning. 
O'er  the  frozen  ground  he  flew, — 

Rushing  breathless,  rushing  wildly, 
For  the  hurrying  foe  pursue. 

Near  and  nearer  they  are  coming, 
They  are  gaining  on  him  still ! 


A    CLUSTER   OF    ROSES.  149 


STANZAS 


ON     THE     DEATH     OF    MR.    SILAS    BROWN,    A    GENEROUS 
FRIEND    OF    THE    BLIND. 

An  aged  saint  beloved  on  earth, 
Dear  to  his  Saviour  and  his  God, 

Whose  pious  deeds  of  heavenly  birth 
Cheered  sorrow's  children  on  life's  road, 

Sweetly  in  Jesus  fell  asleep. 

And  left  the  desolate  to  weep. 

Yet  still  he  lives!     The  hallowed  light 

Of  his  example  shines  below. 
Diffusing  holy  radiance  bright 

O'er  the  dark  vale  of  earthly  woe. 
Oh!  let  us  tread  the  path  he  trod — 
The  path  of  peace,  of  love  to  God. 

Oh!  well  do  I  remember  now 

His  feeling  heart,  his  voice  so  kind; 

How  wreathed  with  smiles  was  each  young  brow, 
When  the  dear  guardian  of  the  blind 

Gladdened  our  home  with  gentle  tone, 

And  made  our  little  griefs  his  own. 

Those  generous  friends  of  early  day, 
Who  toiled  to  make  our  lot  more  blest. 

Are  passing  one  by  one  away, — 

Gone  from  this  weary  world's  unrest, 

To  reap  in  heaven  their  bright  reward, 

And  ever  be  with  God,  the  Lord. 


150  A    CLUSTER   OF    ROSES. 

We  mourn  their  loss  who  knew  them  best, 
And  heartfelt  tears  of  grief  will  come 

O'er  the  dear  memories  of  the  blest, 

Bright  day-star  of  our  childhood's  home, 

While  gratitude's  immortal  song 

Re-echoes  names  remembered  long. 

Ye  who  were  twined  by  earliest  love 
Around  each  fibre  of  his  soul, 

Who  felt  his  spirit's  softest  move 
And  yielded  to  his  sweet  control. 

With  yours  our  prayers  and  tears  we  blend, 

Who  mourn  a  guardian  and  a  friend. 

Father  in  Heaven,  'twas  thou  alone 

That  gav'st  that  friend  to  cheer  our  path, 

Who  stands  before  thy  radiant  throne 
Victorious  o'er  the  power  of  death; 

We  bow,  we  kiss  thy  chastening  rod — 

Thy  will  be  done,  our  Father,  God! 


PARTING   AND   MEETING. 

Oh!  there  are  moments  when  the  heart's  deep  woe 

Rejects  the  balm  of  consolation  sweet; 
When  the  hot  tears  of  parting  anguish  flow, 

And  the  dear  ones  we  erst  were  wont  to  greet 
With  love's  sweet  incense  bid  us  sad  adieu, 

And,  like  the  crimson  hues  of  day's  declining, 
Fade  fast  away  and  vanish  from  our  view, 

Leaving  but  darkness  where  the  sun  was  shining. 


A    CLUSTER   OF    ROSES.  151 

Oh!  there  are  hours  when  faithful  memory  pours 

The  gush  of  feeling  and  of  wealth  untold, 
When  joy  exquisite  opes  the  long-closed  doors, 

And  hearts  exultant  cannot  be  controlled ; 
For  friends  long  parted  meet  on  earth  once  more, 

And  hand  clasps  hand — 'tis  real  bliss,  not  deeming; 
And  glad  thoughts  gem  the  happy  soul  all  o'er, 

Bright  as  the  rose-tints  in  the  orient  beaming. 

Oh!  if  to  meet  on  this  our  sin-stained  earth, 

Where  parting  tears  perchance  may  flow  again. 
To  such  ecstatic  thrills  of  joy  give  birth. 

That  we  forget  our  bygone  years  of  pain, 
Can  man  portray  the  rapture  of  that  time 

When,  with  the  angels  and  the  Lord  of  glory. 
We  tune  our  harps  in  heaven's  celestial  clime. 

And  chant  for  aye  redeeming  love's  sweet  story  ? 


LINES 


TO    MY    FRIEND,    MR.    SCOTT,    ON    VISITING    HIS    NATIVE 
PLACE. 

Thou  art  going  again  to  thy  boyhood's  home, 

To  the  land  where  thy  fathers  sleep ; 
Thou  wilt  sit  beneath  the  hallowed  dome 
Of  the  little  kirk — sweet  thoughts  will  come 
From  the  fountain  of  feeling  deep. 

Thou  wilt  trace  the  links  of  memory's  chain, 
Through  the  lapse  of  departed  years; 


152  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

And  thy  heart  will  feel  the  shock  of  pain, 
For  the  loved  thou  mayst  not  see  again — 
They  have  gone  from  this  world  of  tears. 

But  the  little  brook  will  murmur  by, 

And  the  flowers  will  be  just  as  gay. 
The  grass  as  green,  and  as  bright  the  sky. 
As  when  first  they  caught  thy  laughing  eye 
In  the  dawn  of  thy  childhood's  day. 

And  thy  hand  will  feel  the  grasp  of  love, 
Warm  friendship  will  greet  thee  there; 
For  more  radiant  than  the  stars  above 
Are  the  bright  links  affection  wove, 
Gemmed  with  the  dew  of  prayer. 

Each  treasured  scene's  familiar  still — 

The  humble  peasant's  cot, 
The  cattle  grazing  on  the  hill, 
The  heather-bank,  the  glassy  rill, 

Each  fairy-haunted  spot. 

God  bless  thee,  honored  friend  most  dear, 

God  speed  thee  o'er  the  main; 
Warm  hearts  will  greet  thy  coming  here, 
Love  breathes  for  thee  the  earnest  prayer — 
Dear  friend,  return  again ! 


A   CLUSTER    OF   ROSEB.  153 


ADDRESS 

WRITTEN      FOR     A     SUNDAY-SCHOOL      PICNIC     AT     EAST 
CHATHAM. 

Deep  in  the  heart's  remotest  springs  is  joy, 

Diffusing  holy  rays  of  lambent  light 

Through  every  heart  in  this  umbrageous  wood. 

With  the  sweet  minstrels  of  the  sylvan  shade, 

We  swell  the  song  of  gratitude  and  praise 

To  God,  whose  love  these  bright  surroundings  gave. 

In  the  blest  school  that  duly  on  each  moVn 

Of  holy  Sabbath  opes  the  welcome  door. 

The  young  may  find  celestial  joys  displayed, 

God's  amaranth  joys  that  cannot  fade  or  die. 

The  joys  of  earth  that  thrill  with  glad  delight, 

The  noxious  breath  of  morrow's  woe  may  blight; 

But  not  like  these  are  the  undying  joys 

That  woo  acceptance  in  your  Sabbath-School. 

Come,  then,  with  hearts  impressible  and  meek; 

Come  ere  the  flight  of  never-resting  time 

Tells  the  last  day  in  life's  revolving  sphere. 

Come  in  the  dew-gemmed  morn  of  early  youth  ! 

To  God,  who  gave  you  being,  give  your  hearts; 

And,  as  ye  toil  o'er  life's  fatiguing  way, 

Gather  the  pearls  of  everlasting  bliss, 

And  lay  your  treasure  at  the  Saviour's  feet. 

The  sun  dispenses  rosy  light  and  warmth 

On  this  glad  morn,  and  through  the  leaf-clad  trees 

The  gentle  zephyr  sings  his  matin  song. 


154  A'  CLUSTER   OF    ROSES. 

All  things  are  vocal  with  Jehovah's  praise. 

This  blithesome  day  is  life's  sweet  episode, 

And  in  the  winter  of  the  heart's  dim  age 

Its  memories  sweet  will,  like  a  fragrant  flower, 

Bring  back  again  the  warm  glad  light  of  youth. 

And  cause  the  heart  by  care  and  grief  bowed  down 

Buoyant  to  rise  and  live  joy's  moments  o'er. 

God  prosper,  then,  these  country  Sabbath-Schools! 
And  every  year  may  young  lambs  gathered  be 
In  the  good  Shepherd's  fold,  the  fold  of  Christ — 
Participants  of  deathless  Bible  joys, 
That  shine  so  brightly  on  the  living  page. 


I  DO  NOT  SEE  THE  ANGELS  YET.' 

I  cannot  see  them  yet,  mother — 

The  angels  robed  in  white; 
But  I  feel  a  blessed  calm,  mother ; 

I  see  a  heavenly  light. 

I  know  the  dazzling  beauty 

Of  the  dear  Son  of  God ; 
Then  I  would  not  have  you  weep,  mother. 

When  I  go  to  his  abode. 

He  wants  your  daughter  now,  mother. 

To  wear  a  crown  above; 
I  shall  see  the  angels  then,  mother. 

And  sing  redeeming  love. 


A    CLt^STKR    OF    ROSES.  155 

I  fondly  love  you  all,  mother, 

Yet  may  not  here  abide; 
There's  a  voice  that  calls  me  home,  mother, — 

A  voice  from  the  other  side. 

It  warms  this  fainting  heart,  mother, 

With  vivid,  heavenly  ray. 
Come,  dear  ones,  kiss  me  for  the  last, 

Then  let  me  go  away. 

Be  sure  the  angels  bright,  mother, 

Will  come  down  from  on  high, 
To  take  me  where  the  white-robed  sing 

Glory  to  God  for  aye. 


THE   FRIENDS'   MEETING, 

A  holy  heavenly  light 

Gladdens  the  dew- wet  earth; 

The  silent  flowers  perfume  the  air, 

Hushed  is  the  cry  of  earthly  care; 
The  blessed  Sabbath's  birth 

Is  ushered  in  with  praise  and  prayer. 

All  nature  seems  to  feel 

A  sense  of  peaceful  rest, 
And  hearts  in  unison  are  still, 
Waiting  the  Spirit's  quickening  thrill. 

To  kindle  in  the  breast 
Adoring  love  for  God's  dear  will. 


156  A   CLUSTER   OF   ROSES. 

No  ornament  is  here, 

No  love  of  vain  display ; 
The  unpainted  house  is  dear  to  God — 
In  humble  hearts  is  his  abode, 

Who  sends  the  proud  away. 
But  leads  the  meek  up  Zion's  road. 

A  hallowed  stillness  reigns : 

Only  the  summer  breeze 
Floats  softly  through  the  sycamore. 
Through  maple  trees  close  by  the  door, 

Down  to  the  locust  grove. 
And  seems  to  whisper — weep  no  more. 

The  solemn  meeting  ends: 
Then  kindly  greetings  come, 

And  tender  w^ords  fall  soft  and  low, 

Pure  as  the  flakes  of  driven  snow. 
Far  the  dear  ones  at  home 

Would  others'  joys  and  sorrows  know. 

.    So  part  they  all  in  peace : 

So  may  they  meet  in  Heaven, 
Where  names  are  lost  in  perfect  love — 
Where  all,  as  one,  shall  sweetly  prove 

The  bliss  of  sins  forgiven, 
The  light  of  Jesus,  Lord  above. 


A   CLUSTER   OF   ROSES.  157 

TO  MRS.  A.  FREAR, 

WHO    BEFRIENDED    ME    IN    LIFE's    DARKEST    HOUR. 

And  the  King  shall  answer  and  say  unto  them,  Verily  I  say 
unto  you,  inasmuch  as  ye  have  done  it  unto  one  of  the  least 
of  these  my  brethren,  ye  have  done  it  unto  me. — Matthew, 
XXV.  40. 

When  all  creation,  trembling  with  dismay, 

Hears  the  archangel's  trumpet  rend  the  skies, 
When  earth  dissolves  and  heaven  shall  pass  away, 
And  they  that  sleep  arise; 

Then  myriad  hosts  shall  shrinking  stand  before 

The  starry  throne  of  God's  eternal  Son, 
And  angels  tell  their  trespasses  all  o'er. 
Noting  them  one  by  one. 

In  that  black  hour  of  awful  dread  dismay. 

When  hope  dies  out  before  the  avenging  rod. 
To  thee  will  Christ  in  soothing  accents  say. 
Come  to  thy  Father,  God. 

For  I  was  naked,  sick  with  doubts  and  fears- 
Was  hungry,  fainting,  weeping,  all  alone, 
And  thou  didst  wipe  away  my  falling  tears. 
And  make  my  woes  thine  own. 

Welcome,  thou  blessed!     To  my  kingdom  come! 

I  saw  thee  cheer  my  long-afflicted  child; 
The  poor  had  access  to  thy  genial  home — 
I  saw  their  joy  and  smiled. 


lo8  A    CLUSTER   OP    ROSE^. 

In  wondering  love  and  deep  humility 

Thy  soul  will  cry,  I  knew  it  not,  my  Lord! 
"Thou  didst  it  unto  them;  therefore  to  me 
'Twas  done.     Take  thy  reward! " 

I  shall  be  there,  thy  witness  in  that  hour. 

And  clasp  thy  hand,  no  more  a  homeless  one- 
No  longer  sightless  in  yon  amaranth  bower, 
Where  shines  the  light  of  love. 

The  Lamb's  pure  light,  ineffable  and  sweet, 

Will  shine  forever  in  the  upper  skies; 
There  the  fair  face  of  Christ  be  first  to  greet 
My  unclosed  eyes. 

All  I  have  known  of  cruel  wrongs  and  tears 

Will  be  forgotten  in  that  perfect  rest; 
And  I  may  hope  with  thee,  the  friend  of  years. 
Forever  to  be  blest. 

Not  on  the  earth  do  holy  deeds  like  thine 

Find  their  reward;  their  record  is  above: 
On  Jesus'  breast  they  have  their  fitting  shrine, 
These  gems  of  heavenly  love. 


A   CLUSTER   OF    ROSES.  159 


FAITH. 

My  bark  is  on  a  stormy  sea, 

By  rough  winds  tosaed  and  driven; 

Helpless,  O  God,  I  cry  to  thee! 

My  shield,  my  rock,  my  refuge  be — 
My  faith  clings  fast  to  Heaven. 

Then,  though  I  mount  each  billowy  steep, 
Then,  though  life's  bark  be  riven. 

It  cannot  founder  in  the  deep ; 

The  changeless  mercy  will  not  sleep 
Of  God  who  rules  in  Heaven. 

I  will  not  yield  to  dark  despair: 

The  cup  his  hand  has  given 
I  drink  with  patience,  and  declare 
That  joyfully  his  cross  I  bear, 

In  hope  of  winning  Heaven. 

God  has  not  sent  one  useless  blow, 

One  pang  unneeded  given ; 
For  the  redeemed  must  suffer  so, 
Must  tread  the  thorny  path  below, 

To  shine  with  Christ  in  Heaven. 

Then  bless,  my  soul,  the  chastening  rod ; 

In  love  each  stroke  is  given, 
To  bring  thee  nearer  to  thy  God, 
And  in  the  straight  and  narrow  road 

To  lead  thee  up  to  Heaven. 


160  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

"COME,  LET  US  GO  TO  JESUS." 
[These  were  the  last  words  of  Mr.  Sanford  to  his  weeping  wife.] 

Come,  let  us  go  to  Jesus ! 

Forbear  from  tears  of  woe; 
Come,  let  us  go  to  Jesus — 

Why  tarry  here  below.? 
I  cannot  go  without  thee, 

My  darling  wife,  most  dear, 
My  sunlight  and  my  gladness — 

How  can  I  leave  thee  here  ? 

Come,  let  us  go  to  Jesus; 

Or,  if  thou  linger  yet 
A  little  longer  in  life's  vale. 

Before  its  sun  shall  set, 
Oh !  lay  thy  heart  resigned 

Low  at  our  Father's  feet. 
And  take  with  joy  from  his  dear  hand 

The  bitter  with  the  sweet. 

I  must  go  alone  to  Jesus ! 

The  chill,  cold  hand  of  death 
Is  on  my  brow — is  on  my  heart — 

It  stops  my  quivering  breath. 
Yet  let  me  feel  the  pressure 

Of  thy  lips  upon  my  brow, 
And  catch  my  last  faint  whisper, 

For  I'm  passing  from  thee  now. 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  161 

Come,  follow  me  to  Jesus ! 

I  would  not  be  alone; 
There's  a  place  for  thee  in  Heaven 

Before  the  great  white  throne. 
Come,  follow  me  to  Jesus; 

Come,  swell  the  Saviour's  song; 
Come,  follow  me  to  Jesus; 

Come,  join  the  glittering  throng. 


LINES  WRITTEN  FOR  MRS.   H. 

On  the  return  of  her  daughter,  who  left  her  a  bride,  and  after 
two  years'  absence  came  back,  bringing  her  little  child. 

Thy  brow  was  wreathed  with  love's  sweet  smiles. 
Love's  winning  smiles  of  holy  light; 

Whose  influence  in  the  soul  creates 
A  fount  whose  drops  are  ever  bright; 

And  as  I  gazed  on  that  dear  brow, 
I  could  not  bear  thee  from  my  sight. 

I  watched  thee  from  thy  cradle  hours. 
The  unfolding  of  each  new-born  grace. 

That  in  thy  soul  celestial  bloomed. 
Or  shed  effulgence  o'er  thy  face; 

Then  did  I  clasp  thee  once  again, 
In  a  long,  tender,  last  embrace. 

Then  to  the  husband  of  thy  choice. 
Who  wooed  so  lovingly  my  flower. 


162  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

I  gave  thee  with  a  mother's  prayer — 

That  God  would  be  thy  shield  and  tower, 

Would  lead  thee  through  life's  devious  ways, 
And  be  thy  comfort  hour  by  hour. 

Years  have  gone  by  on  rosy  wing; 
"^  I  see  my  darling  child  once  more — 

But  not  alone — a  prattler  sweet 

Is  blithely  gamboling  on  the  floor; 
And  as  I  gaze  in  her  dark  eyes, 

I  seem  to  live  life's  young  days  o'er. 

This  tie  more  closely  binds  the  links 
Of  tender  love's  unbroken  chain. 

'Twill  brighten  youth,  'twill  gladden  age, 
'Twill  sweeten  joy  and  solace  pain ; 

A  new  life  to  thy  life  is  given, 
A  soul  that  cannot  die  again. 

The  sparkling  drops  of  purest  joy. 
Well  in  my  soul,  as  on  the  face 

Of  thy  dear  child  entranced  I  gaze. 
For  there  thy  lineaments  I  trace ; 

A  second  Ellie  greets  the  eye, 

And  wins  the  heart  with  artless  grace. 

Then  welcome  to  thy  childhood's  home. 
With  the  dear  pledge  our  God  has  given; 

The  offspring  of  connubial  bliss. 

The  bud  thou  mayst  unfold  for  Heaven. 

Oh!  early  in  her  soul  implant 
The  holy  precepts  God  has  given. 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  163 

SIGHT   TO   THE   BLIND. 

THEIR    BIBLE. 

We  cannot  look  on  the  sunset  ray, 
As  it  fades  from  the  western  hills  away ; 
Nor  the  moon,  as  she  mirrors  her  silvery  beam 
On  the  mountain-top  and  the  rippling  stream ; 
Nor  the  golden  stars  of  the  dark,  dark  night, 
As  they  cheer  the  world  with  their  holy  light — 
But  the  Bible  unfolds  to  the  sightless  eye 
The  fadeless  light  of  Eternity. 

When  morning  unveils  her  dappled  light, 
When  the  sun  goes  forth  in  splendor  bright, 
Gladdening  the  earth  with  his  vivid  ray, 
Calling  from  slumber  the  new-born  day, 
Tingeing  the  flowers  with  his  rosy  hue 
That  late  were  kissed  by  the  morning  dew, 
While  charms  so  entrancing  to  sight  are  given, 
Our  Bible  is  whisp'ring  of  beauty  in  Heaven. 

When  nature  rejoicing  awakes  from  sleep. 
She  blends  her  song  with  the  mighty  deep, — 
A  song  of  praise  to  our  Father  above. 
The  Fountain  of  mercy,  the  Source  of  love — 
Who  calms  every  sorrow  and  soothes  every  sigh. 
And  shows  by  his  goodness  his  presence  is  nigh — 
He  gives  to  the  children  of  darkness  and  night 
The  day-star  of  glory — the  Bible,  their  light. 


164  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

Sweet  message  of  comfort,  dear  treasure  divine, 

The  pearl  of  humility  gleams  in  each  line. 

There  we  learn  how  with  meekness  life's  trials  to  bear, 

How  faith  tunes  the  soul  to  the  music  of  prayer; 

The  wide-spreading  knowledge  that  brightens  the  age. 

Dear  Bible,  we  owe  to  thy  life-giving  page. 

'Twas  the  soft  voice  of  Jesus,  with  mercy  combined, 

That  gave  to  our  country  these  schools  for  the  blind. 


LINES 


ON   THE    DEATH    OF    WILLIAM    EDWARD,    WHO    DIED    ON   THE   AN- 
NIVERSARY OF   HIS  parents'  WEDDING-DAY,  AFTER   AN  ILL- 
NESS OF  ONLY  TWENTY-EIGHT   HOURS — AGED   22   YEARS. 

Love's  golden  harp,  with  rich  mellifluous  tones, 
Vibrated  sweetly  on  the  charmed  ear, 
Till  bright-eyed  hope  and  dovelike  peace  serene 
Harmonious  blent  in  one  entrancing  swell: — 
Unpitying  Death  this  golden  harp  unstrung. 
Oh  !   'twas  a  time  when  pleasure's  rosy  hues 
Reflected  radiance  on  all  gathered  there; 
For  warm  affections,  circling  in  the  soul, 
Tinged  with  its  light  the  swiftly  passing  hours, 
When  ruthless  Death  the  sacred  harp  untuned. 
Broke  its  sweet  string  and  pierced  a  mother's  heart. 
A  father  wept  o'er  the  still,  lifeless  form 
Of  the  dear  boy  whose  smile  illumed  his  life — 
Whose  eye  was  brightest  in  the  happy  throng — 
Whose  tones  were  gayest  in  the  halls  of  mirth. 
But  gentle  thoughts,  like  Hermon's  dew,  embalmed 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  165 

The  hidden  chambers  of  his  secret  soul; 

His  heart  could  feel  another's  bitter  woe, 

His  hands  relieve  the  sons  of  poverty. 

Prized  for  his  worth,  his  virtues  lent  a  grace 

To  the  pure  pleasures  of  the  social  hearth. 

A  halo  beauteous  as  the  rosy  morn 

His  memory  left  for  loving  friendship's  gaze. 

So  bright,  so  joyous,  and  so  well  beloved, 

His  slightest  tones  seemed  ever  musical — 

Seemed  musical  to  a  fond  mother's  heart, 

Now  stricken,  bowed  by  grief's  stern  agony. 

How  desolate  that  lonely  mother  weeps, 

As  if  her  spirit  had  not  strength  to  be  ! 

O  Jesus,  hear  her  wild  despairing  cry  ! 

Heal  thou  the  wounds  of  her  poor  bleeding  heart, 

And  give  her  strength  to  rest  her  hopes  in  thee — 

On  thee  in  faith,  our  Father  and  our  God, 

To  see  her  child  in  radiant  realms  of  light, 

Beck'ning  her  upward  to  their  dazzling  gates. 


ON  THE  BIRTH  OF  AGNES  FREAR. 

Welcome,  sweet  babe,  to  this  world  of  ours, 
To  the  smile  of  love  and  affection's  kiss ! 

May  hope  thy  pathway  adorn  with  flowers. 
And  life  to  thee  open  a  world  of  bliss; 

Nor  a  shadow  of  doubt  or  sorrow  come, 

To  dim  the  light  of  thy  sunny  home. 

Choicest  of  heaven-sent  treasures  thou  art ; 
Sunbeam  of  joy  to  thy  father  dear ; 


1C6  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

Rainbow  of  hope  to  thy  mother's  heart, 

As  she  breathes  o'er  thy  sleeping  form  a  prayer — 
"Our  Father,  I  pray  thee  her  guardian  be! 
The  Limb  thou  hast  sent  me,  oh  !  cherish  for  thee." 

And  thy  aunt  with  her  laughing  face  is  near, 
To  catch  the  glance  of  thy  bright  blue  eye, 

To  breathe  soft  words  in  thy  tiny  ear, 
And  kiss  thy  cheek  as  the  moments  fly — 

Moments  so  laden  with  peace  and  joy 

That  they  seem  too  pure  for  this  world's  alloy. 

O  Agnes  dear,  mayst  thou  live  to  prove 
The  comfort  of  hearts  so  devoted  to  thee. 

To  reflect  the  bright  hues  of  a  mother's  love, 
The  solace  and  stay  of  thy  father  to  be, 

While  the  tones  of  love,  ever  gentle  and  clear, 

Shall  come  like  sweet  music  to  gladden  thine  ear. 

Then  welcome,  sweet  babe,  to  this  world  of  ours. 
To  the  smile  of  love  and  affection's  kiss ! 

May  hope  thy  pathway  deck  with  flowers, 
And  life  to  thee  open  a  world  of  bliss ; 

Nor  a  shadow  of  doubt  or  sorrow  come, 

To  dim  the  light  of  thy  sunny  home. 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  167 


WELCOME 

TO    MR.    S.    B.    HAINES  AND   FAMILY,  ON    THEIR  RETURN 
FROM    THEIR    EUROPEAN    TRAVELS,    NOV.    6,    1875. 

Rapturous  thrills  of  warm  emotion 

Lift  the  soul  with  praise  to  God, 
For  the  forms  of  love's  devotion 

Tread  again  their  native  sod. 
From  the  land  of  fame  and  story, 

From  the  ocean's  lull  and  foam, 
From  the  battle-fields  once  gory, 

Welcome,  dear  ones — welcome  home! 

From  the  shrines  where  holy  duty 

Keeps  the  heart  from  growing  cold; 
From  the  scenes  where  art  and  beauty 

New  ecstatic  sense  unfold; 
To  the  heart-warm  deathless  treasure 

Of  a  love  that  cannot  roam. 
To  the  fireside's  genial  pleasure, 

Welcome,  dear  ones — welcome  home  ! 

Oh!  the  peace  that  never  slumbers, 

Offspring  of  affection  deep ; 
Oh  !  the  love  whose  sacred  numbers 

Home-born  memories  fragrant  keep ; 
These  around  your  way  were  shining, 

GHnting  o'er  the  path  ye've  come  ; 
Heart-flowers,  wreaths  of  hope  are  twining. 

Welcome,  dear  ones — welcome  home  ! 


168  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

For  the  tones  of  home  are  ever 

Sweet,  with  kindly  feelings  fraught; 
In  the  soul  they  make  forever 

Music  on  the  harp  of  thought. 
Oh  !   'tis  joy  to  know  you're  near  me, 

That  again  my  steps  may  come 
Where  the  good  true-hearted  cheer  me. 

Welcome,  dear  ones — welcome  home! 


FAREWELL   TO   THE    OLD    HOME! 

recited   on   its    nineteenth    anniversary,    st. 
Luke's  day. 

Dear  ladies,  and  patrons,  and  friends  of  our  Home, 

And  strangers  who  gather  about  us  to-day, 
With  hearts  tuned  to  charity's  music  ye've  come. 

Enriched  with  the  perfume  of  sympathy's  ray. 
Ye've  come,  and  your  presence  is  dear  to  each  heart. 

Yet  the  notes  of  farewell  I  must  warble  to-day; 
From  this  Home  of  our  joy  and  our  rest  we  must  part. 

Must  leave  the  dear  church  that  has  long  been  our 
stay. 

But  our  Pastor  is  faithful,  our  Pastor  is  true. 

And  the  links  of  affection  are  holy  and  strong; 
So  I  think  the  best  thing  in  the  world  we  can  do 

Is  to  pack  up  the  Doctor  and  take  him  along. 
A  church  to  the  glory  of  God  will  be  there, 

"The  Beloved  Disciple"  its  name,  you  must  know; 
Its  walls  will  be  vocal  with  praises  and  prayer. 

And  our  Pastor  will  comfort  the  children  of  woe. 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  169 

In  the  beautiful  Home  ye  have  reared  for  God's  poor, 

Will  your  names  be  the  sunbeams  that  scintillate  light; 
Ye  have  patiently  labored  to  open  its  door, 

And  have  garnered  the  jewels  our  Lord  will  make 
bright. 
In  the  Park  when  we  ramble  at  noon  or  at  eve, 

We'll  tell  the  dear  Saviour  the  works  of  your  love; 
You  will  find  'twas  more  blessed  to  give  than  receive, 

When  ye  stand  in  the  Lamb-lighted  presence  above. 

We  go  to  our  Home,  when  the  glad  voice  of  Spring 
Shall    call    from    their   slumber    the   birds  and  the 
flowers; 
Yet  affection  will  linger  on  memory's  wing, 

To  nestle  round  this,  the  old  Home  of  bright  hours. 
Then  come  to  us,  patrons  and  strangers,  we -pray — 
Come  see  how  your  love-deeds  have  brightened  our 
sky; 
Oh!  give  us  a  place  in  your  mem'ry  alway — 

Dear  friends  of  St.  Luke's  Home,  God  bless  you — 
good-bye! 


PRAYER  FOR  GUIDANCE. 

Dear  Heavenly  Father,  lead  thy  child. 
For  all  is  d'esolate  and  drear; 

The  world  is  cheerless,  cold,  and  dark, 
And  I  am  wandering  homeless  here: 

Let  me  one  ray  of  gladness  see — 

O  Father,  Father,  lead  thou  me  ! 


170  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

Dear  Heavenly  Father,  lead  thy  child; 

I  know  not  where  my  footsteps  tend — 
I  see  no  kindly  hand  outstretched, 

Thy  poor  afflicted  to  befriend: 
Let  me  one  ray  of  sunshine  see — 
O  Father,  Father,  lead  thou  me ! 

Dear  Heavenly  Father,  lead  thy  child; 

Fm  wandering  o'er  life's  thorny  way, 
Through  gloomy  thickets  pressing  on. 

Without  one  golden  beam  of  day: 
Let  me  thy  guiding  finger  see — 
O  Father,  Father,  lead  thou  me ! 

Dear  Heavenly  Father,  lead  thy  child, 
And  I  will  walk  by  faith,  not  sight; 

Look  up  to  Christ,  the  meek  and  mild, 
For  gleams  of  holy,  heavenly  light: 

Let  me  thy  guiding  finger  see — 

O  Father,  Father,  lead  thou  me! 

Dear  Heavenly  Father,  lead  thy  child! 

And,  though  no  earthly  home  be  "given, 
ril  meekly  tread  the  tangled  wild — 

It  is  enough,  my  home  is  Heaven; 
Only  thy  finger  let  me  see — 
O  Father,  Father,  lead  thou  me! 

Dear  Heavenly  Father,  lead  thy  child ; 

Though  scorned  by  men,  oppressed  and  lone, 
From  out  the  depths  my  soul  shall  rise 

Up  to  thy  bright  and  glorious  throne : 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  171 

Let  me  thy  guiding  finger  see — 
O  Father,  Father,  lead  thou  me! 

Dear  Heavenly  Father,  lead  thy  child 

To  cast  on  thee  her  every  care. 
By  thy  sweet  peace  and  love  beguiled 

To  live  on  earth  thy  life  of  prayer : 
Let  me  thy  guiding  finger  see — 
O  Father,  Father,  lead  thou  me ! 

Dear  Heavenly  Father,  lead  thy  child, 

As  in  thy  wisdom  seemeth  best ; 
Mark  out  the  way  that  she  should  go 

Through  the  dire  scenes  of  earth's  unrest: 
Let  me  thy  guiding  finger  see — 
O  Father,  Father,  lead  thou  me! 

Dear  Heavenly  Father,  lead  thy  child 

To  glorify  thy  name  on  earth ; 
To  suffer  wrong  with  patience  mild. 

And  humbly  wait  her  heavenly  birth  : 
It  is  enough,  thy  hand  I  see — 
O  Father,  Father,  lead  thou  me ! 


TO  OUR  SISTER  IN  HEAVEN. 

Sister,  we  are  sad  without  thee. 
For  thy  smile  was  ever  bright, 

And  thy  voice  was  sweet  with  kindness, 
And  thy  soul  was  full  of  light — 


172  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

Light  that  shed  its  hues  around  thee, 
Made  each  one  more  happy,  blest; 

Gentle  words,  like  dew  of  Hermon, 
Soothed  the  bleeding  heart  to  rest. 

When  the  cares  of  day  are  over. 
When  the  golden  sun  has  set. 

And  we  meet  for  social  converse. 
There  thy  spirit  lingers  yet. 

And  we  seem  to  hear  thee  speaking, 
Start  and  gaze — thou  art  not  here; 

Gone  to  join  our  cherub  darling 
In  a  purer,  holier  sphere. 

Sister,  we  would  not  recall  thee 
Back  to  sin-stained  earth  again. 

Where  is  shed  the  tear  of  anguish. 
Where  is  heard  the  moan  of  pain. 

God,  thy  Saviour,  saw  thee  fading. 
Filled  thy  soul  with  trusting  faith; 

Glories  radiant,  smiles  eternal, 

Cheered  the  shadowy  vale  of  death. 

Life  had  many  charms  to  win  thee; 

Loved  by  all,  of  spirit  gay. 
Friendship  threw  her  magic  round  thee, 

Strewed  with  flowers  thy  passing  way. 

Tears  of  sadness,  sighs  of  sorrow. 
Woke  thy  tenderest  sympathy; 

Sufferers  on  life's  stormy  ocean 
Found  a  faithful  friend  in  thee. 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  173 

Hearts  remembered  keep  thy  memory, 

As  a  fragrant  lovely  flower, 
Nourished  by  the  tears  of  friendship, 

Gathers  beauty,  strength,  and  power. 

Rest  thee  in  thy  Saviour's  keeping, 

Where  our  little  darling's  gone; 
Swell  the  choral  song  of  Heaven, 

Prom  the  dear  Redeemer's  throne. 


"WHAT  I  DO  THOU  KNOWEST  NOT  NOW, 
BUT  THOU  SHALT  KNOW  HEREAFTER." 

[These  thoughts  were  suggested  by  a  visit  to  a  poor  woman 
who  had  been  confined  to  her  bed  for  forty  years.] 

Not  yet  to  thee  will  God  all-glorious,  wise, 
And  merciful,  make  his  great  purpose  known; 

But  thou  shalt  see,  with  faith-illumined  eyes. 

How  through  much  suffering  his  dear  love  was  shown. 

Now  thou  dost  weep  in  untold  agony, 
Yet  he  is  present  in  the  midnight  hour — 

He  who  did  sweat  great  drops  of  blood  for  thee, 
And  is  the  brightness  of  his  Father's  power. 

Although  the  cross  he  lays  upon  thee  now 
A  burden  prove,  his  ways  are  ways  of  love; 

Each  pang  shall  be  a  jewel  on  thy  brow, 
When  thou  dost  wear  thy  shining  robe  above. 


174  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

Then  thou  shalt  know  why  trials  must  be  thine, 
Why  thou  art  helpless  on  thy  sister's  care; 

And  thou  wilt  bless  thy  Saviour,  Lord  divine. 
That  thou  art  worthy  found  his  cross  to  bear. 


THOUGHTS 

FOR    THE    FATHER    AND    MOTHER    OF    LITTLE    BESSIE. 
"  It  is  well." 

She  was  so  bright  and  beauteous, 

So  like  a  thing  of  light, 
That  the  angels,  bowing  lowly 

Before  the  throne  of  white. 
Asked  the  dear  Lord,  our  Saviour, 
If  to  their  native  heaven. 

Before  the  blight  of  sin 

Her  pure  heart  entered  in, 
This  infant  might  be  given. 

And  Jesus  saw  how  closely 

Love's  tendrils  round  her  clung. 
Their  idol  and  their  worship, 

So  heavenly  and  so  young; — 
And  he  knew  the  bitter  anguish 
That  would  rend  her  parents'  heart. 

But  he  knew  what  wealth  of  love 

Would  garnered  be  above. 
When  this  babe  with  earth  should  part ; — 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  175 

So  he  granted  their  petition : 

And  your  darling,  lost  to  sight, 
Is  resplendent  with  the  glory 

Of  the  Lamb's  eternal  light ; 
And  when  your  hearts  are  ready. 
When  life's  duties  all  are  done, 

Ye  will  know  your  daughter  sweet, 

As  ye  walk  the  golden  street 
Of  the  land  beyond  the  sun. 


TRUTH 


0  glorious  Truth,  immortal  Truth ! 
From  the  first  dawn  of  early  youth, 

1  loved  thy  bright  celestial  ray. 
Whose  radiance  cheered  my  rayless  way. 

I  seek  thee  in  the  night-time  drear. 
When  golden  stars  illume  the  sphere; 
I  hail  thee  with  the  morning  bright. 
That  robes  the  world  in  beauteous  light. 

Majestic  Truth  !  for  thy  dear  sake 
Alone,  my  sad  complaint  I  make; 
Still  sightless,  homeless,  wander  I, 
With  none  to  heed  the  orphan's  cry. 

Beyond  this  dark  and  dismal  night 
I  cannot  see  one  ray  of  light; 


176  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

Yet,  Truth,  where'er  my  steps  may  be, 
I  joy  that  I  did  cling  to  thee. 

I  would  not  throw  away  one  gem 
That  sparkles  in  thy  diadem, 
For  all  the  dazzling  vain  array 
That  tempting  Falsehood  can  display. 

Father  in  Heaven,  with  mercy  mild 
Look  down  and  help  thy  sorrowing  child; 
The  fears,  the  tears,  are  known  to  thee, 
Of  her  who  would  Truth's  martyr  be. 


CIDER'S    REBELLION. 

Seated  around  the  social  board. 

With  thoughts  of  naught  but  gladness, 
When  something  chanced,  oh!  strange  to  tell. 

It  was  so  like  to  madness; 
It  popped,  it  hissed,  it  soared  aloft. 

Not  on  an  angel's  pinion; 
It  said,  "  I'll  do  a  mighty  thing, 

I'll  raise  a  great  rebellion. 

I'll  make  them  from  the  table  rise. 

And  run  for  clear  cold  water; 
I'll  make  them  for  their  dinner  wait. 

Each  hungry  son  and  daughter. 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  177 

But  Maggie's  ribbon  first  I'll  spoil, 

The  table-cloth  beside  her; 
I'll  leave  my  marks  upon  the  wall, 

Great  things  can  do  old  cider! 

I'll  hiss,  I'll  whiss,  but  I'll  not  miss; 

A  thing  I'll  do  so  sly — 
I'll  make  young  Jimmy  start  and  wince, 

I'll  hit  him  in  the  eye." 
And  so  she  effervesced  away, — 
'  Good  Mrs.  H.,  it  tried  her ; 
But  to  all  scenes  there  comes  an  end, 

So  spent  was  poor  old  cider. 

She's  vanquished  now,  she's  still  and  low, 

As  any  mute  creation ; 
Dead  are  the  powers  with  which  she  meant 

To  agitate  the  nation. 
Her  boasted  might  was  only  gas, 

All  strength  is  now  denied  her; 
I  think  they'll  guard  against  the  pranks 

Of  old  rebellious  cider. 


178  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 


WASHINGTON. 

[In  Irving's  "  Life  of  Washington  "  occur  the  words,  "  a  ray 
of  light  was  shining."  This  passage  suggested  the  thoughts 
that  follow.] 

Hope  faded,  and  the  zealous  glow 
Of  country's  love  seemed  burning  low; 
And  hostile  armies,  fierce  and  strong, 
Swept  the  dark  wilderness  along — 
One  ray  of  light  shone  dimly  on 
The  gloomy  path  of  Washington. 

It  nerved  his  soul  with  vigor  new, 
Hope  danced  athwart  his  darkened  view; 
The  God  of  battles  heard  his  prayer. 
Glad  victory  crowned  the  Delaware. 
What  glorious  deeds  of  valor  bright 
Sprung  from  a  single  ray  of  light ! 

He  labored  on  still  undismayed 

With  trusting  heart,  while  overhead, 

Through  clouds  of  battle  rolling  dark, 

He  still  beheld  that  sacred  spark; 

It  lured  him  on,  till  splendor  shone  * 

On  the  bright  path  of  Washington." 

Exulting  nations  hailed  its  birth, 

A  new  republic  sprung  to  earth;  ^ 

The  tree  of  liberty  rose  high — 

Its  banner  floated  through  the  sky ; 


A   CLUSTER   OF    ROSE;^,'  181 


ON    THE    BAPTISM    OF   AN    INFANT. 

Made  in  the  likeness  of  the  living  God, 
Heir  of  the  glory  that  can  never  die, 

Oh!  may  he  walk  life's  rough  and  dangerous  road 
Like  one  who  journeys  to  a  rest  on  high. 

As  holy  prayer  ascends  for  him  to-day, 
So  may  thy  prayers  his  consolation  be ; 

As  mystic  drops  now  on  his  young  brow  fall, 
So  may  his  life  be  one  of  purity. 

The  sacred  cross  is  on  his  forehead  made; 

Now  he  must  battle  for  his  risen  Lord, 
Stand  in  the  ranks,  fearless  and  undismayed, 

Armed  with  the  power  of  his  eternal  word. 

It  must  be  sweet  to  fit  on  earth  for  heaven 

The  soul  made  precious  by  its  Saviour's  death; 

To  give  to  God  the  life  he  the^e  has  given. 

Ransomed,  immortal,  through  the  might  of  faith. 

God  bless  thee  in  thy  work  of  mother-love, 

Strengthen  thy  hands,  sustain  thy  fainting  heart; 

When  this  dear  babe  has  come  to  man's  estate, 
Mayst  thou  behold  him  choose  life's  better  part. 

Then  canst  thou  say  wit^  Simeon  of  old, 
"In  heavenly  peace  I  to  my  Lord  can  go, 

Can  leave  my  darling  nestled  'neath  his  wing; 
It  is  enough— I  ask  no  more  to  know." 


1§^  A   CLUSTER   OF    Rofefeh. 

Ask  needed  grace  in  humble,  earnest  prayet, 
Then  shalt  thou  reap  the  fruits  of  endless  joy; 

Angels  will  watch  around  his  secret  ways, 

And  thou  may'st  lead  to  Heaven  and  Christ  thy  boy. 


FRIENDSHIP'S   WELCOME 

TO     MR.     AND     MRS.    SMYTHE,    AND    FAMILY,    AFTER    AN 
ABSENCE    OF    EIGHTEEN    MONTHS. 

Bright  as  the  tints  of  the  roseate  morn. 

Sweet  as  the  dews  by  the  flowerets  borne, 

Rich  as  the  melody  woodlarks  bring 

When  they  welcome  the  first  warm  blush  of  spring. 

Are  the  feelings  that  move  our  hearts  the  while. 

That  kindle  the  warmth  of  affection's  smile, 

As  we  joyfully  welcome  from  ocean's  breast 

The  friends  in  whose  bosom  'tis  sweet  to  rest. 

As  they  gazed  on  the  beautiful  works  of  art, 

A  whisper  of  home  thrilled  every  heart; 

As  they  climbed  the  Alpine  heights  sublime, 

They  heard  the  sweet  music  of  early  time; 

As  they  marked  the  ruin  of  empire's  might, 

They  thought  of  the  banner  all  glorious  and  bright, 

Now  kissed  by  the  breeze  of  Columbia's  shore. 

And  longed  for  their  star-lighted  home  once  more. 

Our  thoughts  flew  far  o'er  the  mighty  deep, 

And  blended  with  theirs  in  their  dreams  of  sleep; 


A   CLUSTER   OF   ROSES.  183 

We  remembered  the  kindness  that  made  life  bright, 
And  asked  our  Father  to  give  them  light — 
The  light  of  hope  and  the  light  of  joy — 
The  light  of  love  that  no  time  can  cloy — 
The  light  that  beams  from  the  world  on  high, 
And  hallows  the  hours  as  they  pass  by. 

Oh!  God  may  have  heard  these  prayers  of  ours: 
They've  gathered  the  sweetest  of  earth's  fair  flowers; 
He  has  brought  them  back  to  their  kindred  dear, 
To  the  land  of  their  birth,  to  the  home  of  their  prayer, — 
And  heart-smiles  are  wreathing  our  brows,  as  we  come 
To  bid  them  thrice  welcome  to  friends  and  home. 
Of  the  incense  of  love  that  perfumes  their  way, 
Is  the  welcome  born  that  we  bring  to-day. 


THE  FLOWERS  OF  HOPE. 

Hope's  winning,  soul-entrancing  flowers. 
Perfumed  with  breath  of  Heaven's  own  bowers, 
She  wreathes  around  thy  heart,  to  tell 
That  she  will  guard  thy  young  life  well 
From  every  noxious  blast  of  woe; 
And  through  the  clouds,  and  through  the  snow, 
That  shroud  life's  boisterous  waters  dark. 
Will  safely  guide  thy  fragile  bark. 

The  waves  shall  sparkle  in  thy  sight, 
Like  diamonds  glittering  in  the  light; 


184  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

And  all  along  the  shore  shall  be 

Sweet  flowers  that  ope  their  charms  for  thee. 

Perennial  hues  of  bliss  divine, 

Perpetual,  o'er  thy  path  shall  shine; 

Sweet  Hope  these  fairy  gifts  will  bring, 

And  balm-drops  on  thy  pillow  fling. 

Ecstatic  thrills  of  joy  most  sweet 
Thy  heart  at  morn  and  eve  shall  greet, 
And  come  to  make  their  dwelling  there, 
And  deck  thy  soul  with  flowers  most  rare; 
And  perfumed  by  their  sacred  breath, 
Thy  soul  shall  triumph  e'en  in  death. 
These  flowerets  bloom  immortally, 
The  amaranths  of  eternity. 


A    NATION'S   PRAYER. 

To  the  Majesty  on  high, 
Ruling  ocean,  earth,  and  sky, 
Lo!  the  nation  lifts  its  eye — 

God,  we  trust  in  thee! 
Thou  art  Judge  Supreme  alone, 
Justice  gems  thy  glorious  throne ; 
Make  Columbia's  cause  thine  own — 

God,  we  trust  in  thee  I 

Oh!  let  sacred  peace  once  more. 
Beam  on  North  and  Southern  shore, 
As  in  blessed  days  of  yore — 
God,  we  trust  in  thee! 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  185 

Thou  from  discord  peace  canst  bring, 
And  our  hearts'  deep  sorrowing 
Change  to  joy's  exultant  spring; 
God,  we  trust  in  thee! 

When  sweet  freedom's  banner  bright 
Floats  in  morning's  dappled  light 
O'er  the  starry  eyes  of  night, 

Then  our  song  shall  be — 
Glory  to  the  King  above, 
Who  in  mercy's  changeless  love 
Bade  our  land  his  wisdom  prove! 

God,  all  praise  to  thee! 


TO    THE    MEMORY   OF    PRINCE    ALBERT, 

WHO,    IN     OUR    NATIONAL    CRISIS,    PUT    FORTH    THE    HAND    OF 

FRATERNAL    LOVE,    AND    AVERTED    THE    NECESSITY    OF 

CONFLICT   WITH    OUR    MOTHERLAND.      "BLESSED 

ARE  THE  PEACEMAKERS,  FOR   THEY  SHALL 

BE  CALLED  THE  CHILDREN  OF  GOD." 

In  the  dark  time  when  tears  were  raining 

Down  furrowed  cheek,  from  youth's  soft  eye, — 

When  mother's  love  poured  sad  complaining 
O'er  her  fair  boy,  too  young  to  die, — 

When  widows  lost  their  staff,  their  all. 

When  Hope  was  wrapped  in  night's  black  pall, — 

Thy  words  were  freighted  with  a  blessing. 
For  they  were  God's  and  born  of  Heaven; 

The  cloud  our  nation's  heart  oppressing 
Was  lifted,  and  the  light  was  given. 


186  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

Can  we  forget  thee  in  the  hour 

Of  strength  increased,  of  mightier  power  ? 

No!  whh  the  great  and  good  we  treasure, 

,  Embalmed  shall  be  thy  memory; 
Our  souls  will  glow  with  livelier  pleasure, 

Kindled  by  loving  thoughts  of  thee; 
Columbia's  children  from  afar 
Will  link  thy  name  with  freedom's  star. 

When  Commerce,  over  ocean  sailing, 
Sees  thrift  and  honors  multiply. 

And  earth's  great  nations  join  in  hailing 
Our  flag  that  proudly  floats  on  high ; 

When  joy,  prosperity,  and  peace, 

In  every  clime  and  land  increase ; —     ' 

Then  will  thy  name  be  wreathed  with  flowers- 
The  flowers  of  faith,  and  hope,  and  love — 

To  hallow  grateful  memory's  hours. 
And  lift  the  soul  to  Heaven  above. 

The  Saviour's  amaranths  on  high. 

Are  these  sweet  flowers  that  never  die. 


TO    MRS.   WILLIAM    LEE, 

AFTER    AN    ABSENCE    OF    MANY    MONTHS. 

Welcome,  dear  one,  from  a  foreign  shore. 
To  husband,  children,  and  home,  once  more! 
Welcome  to  hearts  that  have  pined  for  thee. 
To  joy  that  waits  where  thy  steps  will  be! 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  187 

And  welcome,  oh!  welcome  again  to  hear 
Thy  soul's  sweet  music,  my  mother  dear; 
'Tis  a  solace  sweet  for  every  pain 
To  clasp  thine  own  to  thy  heart  again. 

The  richest  boon  by  our  Father  given 
Is  a  happy  home — 'tis  a  taste  of  Heaven: 
That  coveted  bliss  is  thine  to-day — 
Welcome  to  Home,  where  thy  love  holds  sway. 

And  oh!  may  thy  life  unshadowed  be, 
Bright  as  the  sunbeam  that  gilds  the  sea! 
As  thy  voice  and  kindness  to  me  were  sweet, 
So  may  the  angels  thy  coming  greet. 

When  thy  soul  shall  sigh  for  its  purer  home, 
When  life's  march  is  over,  thy  dear  lips  dumb. 
As  thou  wast  a  sunbeam  on  earth  to  me, 
So  Christ  to  his  glory  will  welcome  thee. 


EASTER   FLOWERS. 

Beautiful  flowers,  ye've  come 
Like  heavenly  voices  sweet, 

Like  seraphs  from  the  Saviour's  throne, 
My  lonely  heart  to  greet. 

Ye  whisper  of  that  home 

Whose  day  knows  never  night. 

Where  fadeless  flowers  in  beauty  bloom, 
And  skies  are  ever  bright, 


138  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

Ye  woo  my  soul  to  prayer 
With -fragrant  breath  of  love, 

And  teach  me,  while  I  linger  here, 
My  father's  will  to  prove. 

God  bless  thee  for  these  flowers! 

Mayst  thou  remembered  be. 
When  Christ  shall  gather  in  his  own 

Where  gleams  the  jasper  sea. 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  191 

Had  entered  his  soul  and  his  purpose  changed. 
No  more  from  the  poor  was  his  soul  estranged ; 
His  children  he  led  to  their  humble  cot, 
And  taught  them  to  gladden  the  lowly  lot;        ' 
Led  them  by  noble  example  to  be 
Like  Jesus,  who  wept  at  Gethsemane. 

The  buckler  and  sword,  that  hung  in  the  hall, 
The  cuirass  and  spear  that  gleamed  on  the  wall, 
Were  displaced,  and  pictures  of  Jesus'  death. 
Of  his  life  of  love,  of  his  works  of  faith, 
Serenely  looked  down  on  the  lifted  eye. 
And  spoke  of  Jehovah  who  reigned  on  high. 

Through  the  tapestried  rooms  and  galleries  dim. 
At  eventide  floated  the  Christian's  hymn; 
The  chapel  was  opened,  all  gathered  there 
To  join  with  the  master  in  praise  and  prayer; 
The  old  Romish  rites  and  symbols  were  gone — 
No  priest  at  the  altar,  but  Christ  alone. 


In  this  grand  castle  by  the  Clyde, 
Whose  vast  domains  stretched  far  and  wide. 
This  man  of  God,  this  chieftain's  heir, 
Dwelt  with  his  wife  and  daughters  fair — 
Maggie  and  Annie,  who  each  day 
Scattered  rich  blessings  in  their  way. 

With  flaxen  curls  and  eyes  of  blue, 
Maggie  was  graceful,  fond,  and  true ; 


192  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

Her  presence,  like  some  radiant  star, 
Diffused  a  steady  light  afar. 
And  brightened  all  things  where  she  came, 
Till  like  sweet  music  was  her  name. 

Annie  had  hazel  eyes,  whose  glance, 
If  lighted  up  with  joy  perchance. 
Threw  a  sweet  witchery  of  grace 
Into  her  young  and  beaming  face; 
Her  ringlets  were  of  darkest  brown, 
Waving  from  head  and  shoulders  down. 

When  winter's  bright  transparent  vail 
Dissolved,  and  spring's  more  genial  gale 
Swept  through  the  mountains  and  the  hills. 
O'er  meadows  green  and  gurgling  rills, 
And  birds  were  chirping  to  the  breeze 
That  softly  murmured  in  the  trees, — 

Annie  and  Maggie,  hand  in  hand, 
While  flowers  were  dotting  all  the  land. 
And  the  soft  gush  of  woodland  song 
Floated  through  forest  depths  along. 
Went  forth,  for  oh!  they  loved  to  rove 
Through  the  sweet  paths  of  Elfin  Grove. 

"  Maggie,"  said  Annie,  "  should  I  die 
Before  the  rest,  to  Heaven  I'll  fly 
On  angel  wings.     Then,  sister  dear,i 
Among  the  flowers  oh!  lay  me  here; 
The  birds  will  sing,  and  you  will  come, 
But  I  shall  be  with  God  at  home." 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  18  > 


FOUNDED    ON    FACT. 

In  times  remote,  in  that  picturesque  land 
Where  Wallace  the  brave  led  a  warrior  band, 
And  the  gallant  Bruce  fell  at  Bannockburn, 
Inscribing  forever  on  memory's  urn 
The  laurels  of  glory  that  wreath  his  name, 
And  left  to  fair  Scotland  undying  fame; 

In  those  mountains  drear  where  the  torrents  fall, 
And  echoes  reply  to  the  shepherd's  call, 
Where  children  look  down  on  the  crystal  loch. 
Or  play  with  the  lambs  of  their  fathers'  flock ; 
In  that  land  renowned  for  its  lays  and  tales, 
The  Bible  is  honored  and  truth  prevails. 

In  years  gone  by,  this  most  beautiful  land 

Was  desolate  made  by  a  ruthless  band. 

Who  murdered  the  old,  the  young,  and  the  fair, 

For  their  hearts  were  hardened  to  beauty's  prayer; 

And  children  turned  pale  in  their  merrj'  play, 

When  they  saw  the  robbers  pass  by  that  way. 

On  the  mountain's  crest,  in  the  flowery  vale, 
By  the  murmuring  rill  in  the  verdant  dale, 


190  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

The  loftiest  castle  with  mote  and  tower 
Must  yield  its  wealth  to  the  ruffian's  power; 
And  hearts  stood  silent  and  trembled  with  fear, 
While  panic  and  terror  reigned  everywhere. 

The  mansions  and  castles  deserted  were; 

Men  gathered  in  cities,  for  only  there 

Could  the  loved  ones  that  circled  about  them  rest — 

Could  the  babe  repose  on  its  mother's  breast, 

And  quietly  sleep  through  the  dark  night  still. 

Secure  from  the  fear  of  approaching  ill. 

On  the  pleasant  Clyde,  whose  waters  so  long 
Have  been  the  theme  of  the  poet's  song; 
Where  the  primrose  and  hawthorn  bloom  in  spring; 
Where  black-bird  and  robin  responsive  sing. 
And  the  heather-clad  hills  stretch  far  away. 
Just  touched  by  the  light  of  advancing  day; 

All  stately  and  tall  rose  a  castle  bright, 
Its  battlements  bathed  in  the  early  light. 
And  here  long  ago  did  a  warrior  stand. 
His  battle-axe  grasped  with  sinewy  hand. 
While  his  keen  eye  watched  for  the  coming  foe. 
Like  shadows  gliding  through  forests  below. 

But  the  helmeted  chief  had  passed  away; 
The  proudest,  the  noblest,  must  turn  to  clay: 
The  heir  of  his  prowess,  wealth,  and  pride. 
Had  given  himself  to  the  Crucified. 
The  glitter  of  heraldry  tempted  his  sight; 
He  heeded  it  not,  for  a  purer  light 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  195 

"  I  pray  in  faith  it  may  not  be ! 
God  will  not  take  my  child  from  me, 
But  in  his  pitying  mercy  spare 
My  darling  to  her  mother's  prayer." 

''  O  mother,  mother,  do  not  cry! 
It  is  not  death  for  me  to  die. 
Angels  are  bending  over  me, 
And  whispering  I  shall  Jesus  see. 
Mother,  I  cannot  longer  stay; 
My  Saviour  calls — I  must  obey," 

Soft  as  the  latest  sigh  of  even, 
Her  spirit  faded  into  Heaven; 
But  left  a  perfume  where  she  trod, 
A  halo,  for  she  pleased  her  God: 
In  humble  faith,  so  good  and  mild. 
She  followed  Christ — a  little  child. 

Among  the  flowers  in  Elfin  Grove 
They  laid  the  darling  of  their  love. 
The  birds  sang  blithely  overhead, 
But  they  were  weeping  round  the  dead; 
Not  in  despair,  as  those  who  had 
No  hope,  no  balm  in  Gilead. 

Oft  Maggie  read  her  Bible  there, 
And  breathed  to  God  her  evening  prayer; 
She  loved  the  fragrant  flowers  whose  bloom 
Was  scattered  round  her  sister's  tomb. 
And  watched  them  tenderly  each  day, 
Till  rough  winds  blew  their  leaves  away. 


196  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

Years  rolled  away:  love's  tears  were  vain, 
For  earth  returned  to  earth  again. 
Maggie  was  motherless,  and  left 
Of  every  earthly  care  bereft; 
Yet  not  alone — the  wings  of  God 
Outspread  where'er  the  orphan  trod. 

Through  infancy,  through  childhood,  youth, 
And  womanhood,  celestial  truth 
Developed  in  her  soul,  and  shone 
With  holy  radiance  not  its  own; 
The  Spirit  came  from  God  above, 
And  Jesus  sealed  her  with  his  love. 


When  outrage,  violence,  and  wrong 
Swept,  like  a  maelstrom  fierce  and  strong, 
Through  Scotia's  land,  and  stout  hearts  quailed. 
And  e'en  the  cheek  of  manhood  paled; 
When  all  were  warned  without  delay 
To  flee  to  some  safe  place  away; 

Bible  in  hand,  to  Elfin  Grove, 
Where  slept  the  sister  of  her  love, 
Maggie  went  down,  and  wept,  and  prayed, 
O'er  the  green  grave  where  she  was  laid: 
*'  Ah  !  friends  and  servants,  blame  me  not — 
I  cannot  leave  this  hallowed  spot! 

"  In  the  dark  night,  unseen,  alone. 
While  fitfully  the  wild  winds  moan, 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  193 

Her  arms  around  her  Maggie  threw, 
And  closer  to  her  sister  drew: 
She  kissed  her,  crying  bitterly, 
"  Dear  Annie,  do  not  go  from  me ! 
For  oh  !  I  could  not  come  alone, 
To  Elfin  Grove,  if  you  were  gone. 

"  I  could  not  read,  I  could  not  play, 
Dear  Annie,  if  you  went  away; 
And  mother's  heart  would  overflow 
With  the  great  burden  of  her  woe ; 
The  house  would  be  so  drear  and  lone. 
So  desolate,  if  you  were  gone !  " 

"  But  listen,  sister;  when  I  stand 
Among  the  angels,  in  that  land 
Where  Jesus  reigns,  and  father's  eye 
Beholds  his  daughter  safe  on  high, 
I'll  tell  the  Saviour  how  you  grieve. 
And  beg  him  give  an  angel  leave 

"  To  come,  on  wings  of  glorious  light, 
Down  to  this  world,  and  cheer  your  sight. 
And  tell  what  lovely  flowers  are  given 
To  children,  when  they  go  to  Heaven, 
And  how  we  touch  our  harps,  and  sing 
Glory  to  God,  our  Saviour  king." 

Before  the  beauteous  Summer  passed, — 
Before  chill  Autumn's  withering  blast 
Swept  moaning  down  the  mountain-side, — 
Before  the  last  sweet  rose  had  died, — 


194  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES- 

While  blue-bells  nodded  to  the  breeze, 
And  birds  were  singing  in  the  trees, — 

Angels  looked  down  where  Annie  played 

With  Maggie  'neath  the  willow's  shade. 

And  whispered  lovingly  and  low, 

"  Child,  Jesus  calls  thee,  wilt  thou  go. 

Be  folded  on  his  breast  to  lie. 

The  heir  of  glory  in  the  sky  ?  " 

Her  hazel  eyes,  so  mild  and  meek, 
Were  filled  with  joy,  and  on  her  cheek 
Dawned  a  soft  smile ;  it  seemed  to  say, 
"  Yes,  angels,  I  will  go  away. 
I  love  my  mother,  Maggie  dear, — 
Yet  oh!   I  would  not  linger  here." 

One  morn,  when  glorious  in  his  might 
The  sun  reflected  golden  light 
O'er  mountain,  valley,  island,  sea. 
And  nature  poured  harmoniously 
A  thrilling  song  of  grateful  praise 
To  the  eternal  Source  of  days, — 

Maggie,  with  heavy  heart  and  brain, 
Was  watching  by  a  bed  of  pain; 
For  prostrate  there,  with  failing  breath. 
Sweet  Annie  languished  unto  death. 
How  bright  without,  that  glorious  day  ! 
How  dark  within,  the  shadows  lay ! 

Her  weeping  mother  bowed  her  head, 
And  softly  to  her  daughter  said, 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  197 

I  hither  come,  to  know  the  will 
Of  God,  who  Ipves  and  leads  me  still. 
And  yet  I'd  leave  my  Annie's  grave 
Rather  than  tempt  his  power  to  save. 


"  Close  with  life's  fibres  interwove 
Is  the  deep  love  of  Elfin  Grove. 
For  Annie's  sake,  faith's  blessed  ray 
Illumes  my  soul,  doubt  dies  away ; 
Though  dead  to  all  the  world  but  me, 
Annie,  I  will  not  go  from  thee ! " 

The  aged  servants  of  the  hall 
Assembled  at  their  lady's  call. 
The  book  was  opened,  and  they  heard 
A  word  of  comfort  from  the  Lord  : 
"  I  will  not  leave  you  comfortless. 
In  the  dark  hour  of  your  distress. 

"  Only  remember — watch  and  pray, 
And  cast  your  burdens  every  day 
On  Me  ;  I  know  your  utmost  need, 
And  will  your  faltering  footsteps  lead. 
Through  hidden  dangers,  worldly  snares, 
Suffering  and  death,  to  endless  years." 

Devoutly  kneeled  they  all  in  prayer. 
Implored  their  father's  watchful  care, 
To  shield  them  from  the  ruffian's  power, 
To  be  their  hope,  their  strength,  their  tower; 
To  give  them  grace  his  will  to  prove 
By  patient  trust  and  ardent  love. 


198  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

Dread  silence  reigned.     Her  eyes  of  blue 
Were  moistened  by  the  heart's  warm  dew, 
As  with  sad  look  fair  Maggie  said: 
"  My  faithful  servants,  I  have  prayed 
My  Heavenly  Father's  will  to  know — 
Whether  'tis  best  to  stay  or  go. 

"  Here  from  my  childhood's  earliest  day 
I've  loved — I've  wept;  I'm  growing  gray. 
My  treasured  ones  are  sleeping  here, 
And  memory  holds  this  place  most  dear ; 
Oh!  something  whispers  I  must  stay, 
I  cannot  tear  myself  away! 

"  But  life  is  precious;  why  should  ye 
Hazard  the  gift  of  God  for  me? 
No,  faithful  servants,  true  and  good, 
I  would  not  keep  you  if  I  could. 
Go — in  the  city  walls  abide; 
I  will  as  now  your  food  provide." 

Weeping,  they  fondly  gathered  near: 
"  Dear  lady,  send  us  not  from  here. 
We  saw  our  pious  master  die. 
Your  mother  follow  to  the  sky. 
And  gentle  Annie  pass  away; 
O  lady,  lady,  let  us  stay !  " 


The  day  was  done;  only  the  light 
Of  the  pale  moon  rose  on  the  night, 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  199 

And  shimmered  o'er  the  restless  wave, 
Then  stooped  to  kiss  sweet  Annie's  grave; 
Maggie,  her  daily  duties  done. 
Sat  reading  pensively  alone. 

Under  the  bed  she  saw  a  glare. 
Like  a  wild  tiger's  from  his  lair, 
Watching  her  candle's  flickering  light; 
Her  heart's  blood  curdled  at  the  sight; 
She  durst  not  move,  she  durst  not  cry. 
Or  servant  call — that  were  to  die. 

She  closer  drew  the  stand,  where  lay 
Her  holy  Bible;  (day  by  day 
Had  she  recourse  to  its  sweet  voice. 
To  strengthen  faith  and  hope  rejoice); 
Then  read  aloud  the  sacred  page. 
Replete  with  life  for  every  age. 

How  in  the  plenitude  of  love, 
Down  from  his  radiant  throne  above, 

The  only  Son  of  God 
To  fallen  man  in  pity  came. 
And  humbly  bore  a  lowly  name. 

Endured  the  smiter's  rod. 

How  lamblike  and  how  patiently 
He  bowed  in  lone  Gethsemane, 

Hung  on  the  cross  and  died ; 
How  radiantly  redemption's  light 
Shines  on  a  world  where  all  was  night, 

Through  Christ  the  Crucified. 


200  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

And  in  a  solemn  earnest  prayer, 
To  him  whose  kind  benignant  ear 

Hears  every  mortal  plaint, 
She  begged  for  strength,  for  trusting  faith. 
For  grace  to  suffer  life  or  death. 

To  pray  and  not  to  faint. 

"  Father,"  she  said,  "  this  wandering  band 
That  plunders,  desolates  the  land. 

Let  them  their  error  see. 
Forgive  and  bless  them,  gracious  Lord ! 
To  them  thy  mercy  sweet  accord, 

And  lead  them  unto  thee. 

"  Oh !  send  salvation's  light  abroad 
On  every  soul  that  knows  not  God, 

Wandering  in  sin's  dark  ways; 
Let  crime  and  plunder,  murder,  cease. 
Till  all  mankind  abide  in  peace, 

And  prayers  be  changed  to  praise!" 

She  ceased,  and  trustful  as  a  child 
Lay  down;  and  lo!  the  angels  smiled. 
And  bore  in  triumph  through  the  air 
A  heaven-sent  answer  to  her  prayer. 
The  faith  reflected  from  her  soul 
Held  the  bold  robber  in  control. 

And  thus  he  spoke :    "  Dismiss  thy  fear, 

I  will  not  harm  a  single  hair. 

I  came  to  plunder,  kill  perchance; 

Oh!  hadst  thou  feared  my  stealthy  glance, 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  201 

Hadst  called  for  aid,  or  oped  the  door, 
Thy  heart  had  never  fluttered  more. 

"  Thou  didst  not  ask  that  vengeful  ire 
Of  God  would  burn  us  with  its  fire; 
Nor  that  the  civil  arm  might  rend 
From  us  all  power,  and  none  befriend; 
That  justice  would  refuse  to  spare 
The  ruffian  who  was  deaf  to  prayer." 

"  But  thou  didst  pray  so  earnestly 
That  God  would  bring  us  all  to  see 
How  we  are  wandering  from  him  now, — 
Bring  us  before  his  throne  to  bow. 
And  taste  the  wealth  of  pardoning  love, 
Redeeming  grace  and  comfort  prove." 

"These  are  the  precepts  Jesus  taught; 

I  do  but  practice  what  I  ought. 

For  all  men  sin  and  go  astray. 

And  need  repentance  every  day ; 

We  merit  God's  avenging  rod, 

But  mercy  find  through  Jesus'  blood." 

"  In  all  my  wanderings  far  and  near 
'Twas  not  my  happy  lot  to  hear 
This  holy  book.     Lady,  through  thee 
First  came  these  blessed  words  to  me." 
He  kissed  her  hand:  "  Thy  prayer  of  faith 
Will  lead  me  in  another  path." 

"  The  glory,"  she  replied,  "  is  due 
To  God — he  only  can  renew 


202  A   CLUSTER  OP    ROSES. 

The  heart  deep  dyed  in  passion's  strife, 
And  fit  thee  for  a  holier  life. 
Ask  pardon;  grace  and  love  are  given, 
For  art  thou  not  the  heir  of  Heaven  ? " 

He  softly  blew ;  a  silvery  sound 

Floated  to  all  the  heights  around, 

And  quickly  from  the  sheltered  wood 

His  banded  men  before  him  stood. 

"  Airs  well,"  he  cried,  "  for  treasure  bright 

Ye  dreamed  not  of,  is  mine  to-night." 

They  thought  of  gems  and  stores  of  gold 
Their  greedy  eyes  would  soon  behold; 
But  calling  them,  their  leader  strode 
His  flying  steed,  and  onward  rode. 


Years  passed,  and  God  vouchsafed  again 
His  Holy  Spirit  unto  men. 
Quickening  hearts  to  sin  a  prey. 
And  calling  them  from  guilt  away. 
Teaching  the  reckless  lip  to  raise 
Ecstatic  notes  of  grateful  praise. 

'Mong  others,  Maggie  rose  to  tell 
How  God  protects  and  guards  so  well 
Those  he  has  chosen  for  his  own, 
Who  walk  by  living  faith  alone; 
Who  know  not  doubt,  dismay,  or  fear, 
But  like  young  children  trust  his  care. 


A  cLilstEk  oP  Ros£§.  203 

How  through  the  prayer  of  earnest  faith 
The  hand  was  stayed  that  threatened  death ; 
How  clouds  of  darkness  rolled  away, 
The  son  of  crime  beheld  the  day; 
The  robber's  soul  was  taught  to  see 
That  Jesus  died  for  such  as  he. 

She  ceased,  and  one  of  noble  mien 

Said,  "  I  was  actor  in  that  scene  ! 

I  am  that  man — my  sinful  heart 

Has  found,  through  ('hrist,  the  better  part; 

That  prayer  was  as  a  torchlight  given, 

To  show  my  soul  the  way  to  Heaven. 

*'  Those  men  of  crime,  of  sin  and  shame, 
I've  taught  to  hope  in  Jesus'  name; 
The  wronged,  the  lonely,  and  oppressed, 
I've  pointed  to  a  holier  rest." 
His  gray  locks  trembled  in  the  air, 
His  eyes  were  closed  in  silent  prayer. 

The  mountain  robber,  fierce  and  wild, 

By  grace  made  humble  as  a  child, 

Rejoicing,  penitent,  and  meek, 

While  grateful  tears  rolled  down  his  cheek. 

Saluted  her  whose  words  of  love 

First  taught  his  lips  in  prayer  to  move. 


O  Faith,  if  we  but  knew  thy  power, 
We  would  not  languish  in  the  hour 
When  all  is  wrapped  in  deepest  gloom. 
When  hope  lies  buried  in  the  tomb; 


^04  A    CLUSTER   OF    ROSES. 

We  would  not  yield  to  dark  despair, 
But  live  by  thee  and  trust  in  prayer. 

If  wronged  or  suffering,  poor,  unknown, 
Thou  tread 'st  with  bleeding  feet  alone 
Life's  rugged  way — when  shines  no  star, 
No  faint  light  gleaming  from  afar, — 
If  faith  within  thy  soul  be  born, 
'Twill  brighten  as  the  glorious  morn. 

For  faith  forbids  all  fear,  all  dread. 
All  anxious  thought  for  daily  bread; 
And  knows  the  everlasting  arm 
Will  shield  from  dire  distress  and  harm. 
And  lead  us  in  the  path  he  trod — 
The  dying  Lamb — the  son  of  God. 


A   CLUSTER   Ol-'    k(>SES.  205 


MY   SONGSTER. 

One  day,  while  trying  to  concentrate  my  thoughts  on  an  inter- 
esting subject,  the  singing  of  my  little  bird,  of  which  I  am  very 
fond,  won  my  attention,  and  prompted  the  following  lines: — 

Thou  call'st  me  from  ambition's  dream, 
From  thoughts  that  wear  the  taint  of  earth, 

From  fancy's  bright  and  airy  beam, 
To  hear  thy  song  of  artless  mirth. 

Thy  song  of  mirth,  O  joyous  bird, 
Breaks  with  Aurora's  gushing  light. 

Is  with  the  sigh  of  evening  heard. 

When  veils  the  sun  his  radiance  bright. 

I  sometimes  deem  that  thou  hast  flown 
With  birds  in  amaranthine  bowers. 

And  caught  their  melody  of  tone 
To  cheer  this  lonely  world  of  ours. 

Love  dwells  for  thee  in  every  flower, 

In  fertile  vale  and  gurgling  rill; 
On  zephyr's  breath,  in  sorrow's  hour, 

It  sheds  a  perfume  round  thee  still. 

Then  call  me  from  ambition's  dream, 

From  thoughts  that  wear  the  taint  of  earth, 

From  fancy's  bright  and  airy  beam — 
I  love  thy  song  of  artless  mirth. 

9 


$C6  A   CLUSTER   OP   ROSfeS. 


THE  ANGELS'  GIFT. 

When  beauteous  earth  from  chaos  sprung, 
And  day's  all-glorious  lamp  was  hung, 
Man,  in  the  likeness  of  his  God, 
The  new-made  earth  with  gladness  trod. 

Angels,  adoring,  fold  their  wings, 
And  ask  the  eternal  King  of  kings, 
"What  boon  most  dear  to  us  in  Heaven 
May  to  the  new-born  race  be  given  ? " 

Harmonious  through  the  angelic  throng 
An  anthem  rose — echoed  the  song 
Unnumbered  worlds;  and  flower-decked  earth. 
And  mighty  ocean,  hailed  its  birth. 

Rapturous  they  said  :  "  Music  is  given 
To  win  the  sons  of  men  to  Heaven, 
To  cheer  the  desolate  when  drear, 
And  steal  from  grief  its  burning  tear. 

"The  patriot's  love  of  country  strong 
Will  kindle  with  his  native  song; 
Virtue,  religion,  shed  afar 
Their  influence  'neath  sweet  music's  star. 

"  Emotions  soft  and  pure  shall  rise. 
Like  holiest  incense,  to  the  skies; 
Sweet  thoughts  around  the  wanderer  come, 
If  music  cheered  his  boyhood's  home. 


A   CLUSTER   OF   RoSES.  207 

• 

"  At  eve,  when  day's  receding  light 
Melts  in  the  depths  of  gentler  night, 
Then  music  to  the  realms  above 
Shall  waft  the  strains  of  grateful  love." 

Angels,  for  this,  your  glorious  boon. 

Our  hearts  Jehovah's  praises  tune; 

For  music  to  the  blind  is  lights 

Their  beauty's  hue,  and  lustre  of  their  night. 


EVENING  THOUGHTS. 

I  ask  not  the  wreath  that  decketh  the  brow 

Of  the  son  of  martial  fame; 
'Tis  darkly  dyed  with  the  widow's  woe. 
And  the  orphan's  tear  is  the  radiant  glow 

Of  the  laurels  that  grace  his  name. 
But  I  ask  a  spirit  humbly  meek. 
The  contrite  sigh  and  the  tear-wet  cheek. 

Too  deeply  fraught  is  ambition's  dream 

With  the  heart's  unrest  and  the  tearful  eye; 
The  glittering  baubles  that  erst  would  seem 
Life's  rarest  gems,  but  a  moment  gleam, 

And  as  passing  vapor  die. 
I  ask — to  brighten  my  lowly  lot — 
All-glorious  faith,  for  it  fadeth  not. 

I  ask  not  the  magic  of  wealth,  to  knit 
My  earth-born  soul  more  closely  here; 


208  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

Each  pleasure  lost,  as  it  lingers  yet 

On  the  heart's  sad  string,  is  a  sigh  of  regret, 

That  leaveth  it  darkly  drear. 
My  soul,  attuned  to  Thy  praise  alone. 
Shall  come  with  the  morn  and  the  night's  low  moan. 

I  am  lingering  here,  but  a  beam  of  light 
Is  luring  me  hence.     I  go  to  my  home. 

To  bask  in  the  radiance  of  glory  bright. 

No  more,  unheeded,  the  child  of  night 
Through  forest  and  wild  shall  roam. 

I  am  going  home  to  yon  dear  abode; 

I  am  going  home  to  my  Father — God. 


WOOED  AND  WON. 


WOOED. 


I  come  wdth  the  moonlight,  my  own  love,  to  thee. 
To  bask  with  the  stars  in  the  glance  of  thine  eye. 
I've  longed  for  the  close  of  this  beautiful  day. 
Though  the  sweet  birds  were  singing  their  soft  rounde- 
Fly  not,  like  the  fawn,  from  thy  lover  afar,  [lay. 

Thou  day-dream  of  beauty,  thou  ever-bright  star. 
Turn  not  from  thy  suppliant;  O  dearest,  be  mine; 
I  ask,  I  implore,  on  the  banks  of  the  Rhine. 

WON. 

I've  won  the  sweet  blossom  that  bloomed  in  the  vale. 
And  the  voices  of  music  float  by  on  the  gale. 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  209 

With  rapture  unbounded  my  heart  is  elate, 
And  I  ask  not  of  fortune  a  happier  fate. 
OJi  exquisite  transport!  oh  blissful  delight! 
The  clouds  of  suspense  have  rolled  by  in  a  night; 
And  with  purest  effulgence  for  ever  will  shine 
The  jewel  I've  won  on  the  banks  of  the  Rhine. 


HOPE 


I've  floated  o'er  earth  on  a  beam  of  light, 
As  the  fire-fly  shines  in  the  darkest  night; 
I've  kissed  the  flowers  bespangled  with  dew, 
Then  soared  aloft  to  my  home  of  blue. 
On  a  golden  beam,  through  a  fairy  bower, 
I  have  sought  in  vain  for  a  fadeless  flower; 
Its  hue  musf  be  bright  as  a  seraph's  wings, 
When  he  basks  in  the  smile  of  the  King  of  kings; 
Its  fragrance  pure  as  the  light  above 
That  beams  from  the  brow  of  the  God  of  love. 
I  sought  on  that  lovely  sea-girt  shore. 
Where  science  and  wisdom  were  blent  of  yore, 
Where,  sportive  as  birds  in  their  leafy  bowers, 
Young  children  were  twining  the  earliest  flowers; 
Yet  their  sires  were  groaning  with  anguish  keen. 
On  each  manly  cheek  was  the  tear-drop  seen, 
And  lone  by  that  shore,  where  the  Grecian  wave 
Was  dashing  its  spray,  stood  a  chieftain  brave. 
His  people  were  slaves,  and  their  galling  chain 
Was  rending  his  soul.     Shall  it  suffer  in  vain? 


210  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

I  sought  to  solace  his  anguish  deep, 

And  encourage  his  heart  that  he  should  not  weep; 

And  he  said,  as  I  whispered:  "My  arm  is  strong: 

Unconscious  of  might,  I  have  wept  too  long; 

My  land  shall  be  free  as  the  mountain  air, 

And  the  tyrant  be  crushed  in  his  hideous  lair." 

But  his  generous  soul  with  revenge  grew  dark. 

And  I  wept,  though  I  quenched  not  its  kindling  spark. 

Where  the  happy  were  wrapped  in  their  visions  of  love. 

And  the  sky-lamps  were  gemming  the  azure  above. 

On  the  downy  breath  of  the  sportive  breeze 

That  murmured  all  night  'mid  the  leaf-clad  trees, 

I  was  gently  borne  to  a  chamber  lone. 

Where  the  midnight  lamp  o'er  a  scholar  shone. 

The  oifspring  of  genius,  whose  every  thought 

With  fancy  and  feeling  was  richly  fraught. 

But  a  dream  of  ambition  was  lurking  there, 

And  I  turned  with  a  sigh  to  a  scene  more  fair. 

Where  the  perfume  sweet  o'er  my  senses  stole: 

'Twas  the  balm  of  peace  to  the  anguished  soul; 

It  breathed  from  a  flower,  a  lovely  thing 

That  bloomed  in  the  heart's  most  sacred  spring. 

Then  the  trophy-clad  seraphs  around  me  came; 

Their  harps  of  glory  were  sounding  its  name: 

'Twas  blessed  Beneficence,  spotless  and  mild. 

And  I  hailed  it  immortal  with  joys  undefiled. 

In  an  amaranth  wreath  for  the  brow  of  the  kind, 

It  is  twined  by  the  orphan,  the  mute,  and  the  blind; 

And  it  blooms  ever  fair  as  the  star  of  even. 

Though  drooping  and  sad  with  the  tear-drops  of  heaven. 


f^lgs 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  211 


SONG  OF  THE  "NEW  YEAR." 

From  the  ice-bound  realms  of  the  North  afar, 

To  cheer  the  earth  as  a  meteor  star, 

I  come,  for  pleasure  awaits  me  here. 

And  they  welcome  with  music  the  glad  New  Year. 

To  scatter  the  roseate  beams  of  joy, 

And  young  hopes  pure  from  the  dark  alloy 

Of  sorrow  deep  and  the  burning  tear: 

Oh!  they  shall  not  sadden  the  bright  New  Year. 

But  virtue  puissant  and  truth  shall  shine, 
Ennobling  the  soul  with  their  breath  divine; 
The  diamond  of  faith  and  the  dew-drops  of  prayer 
Shall  hallow  my  footsteps — the  bright  New  Year. 

On  the  radiant  pinions  of  light  above, 
I've  soared  for  the  balm  of  unfeigned  love; 
The  holy  have  sanctioned  my  mission  rare, 
And  angels  are  blessing  the  bright  New  Year. 

They  shall  not  weep  as  before  they've  wept. 
Where  the  star-lighted  visions  of  hope  had  slept. 
And  the  heart,  bowed  down  in  its  mute  despair, 
Sighed,  mournfully  sighed,  to  the  closing  year; 

Though  the  earth  may  be  clad  in  its  robe  of  white. 
And  the  once  green  trees  be  muffled  and  dight 
In  snow-wreaths  and  ice,  while  the  vp'ind's  low  moan 
Is  singing  the  dirge  of  the  Old  Year  gone, 


212  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

I've  slept  in  the  breast  of  an  amaranth  flower, 
In  the  crystal  drop  of  an  April  shower; 
From  a  moon-lit  beam,  in  a  star-gemmed  sky, 
Fve  looked  on  the  earth  as  I  floated  by. 

The  fragrant  blossoms  of  love  must  be 

On  the  leafy  boughs  of  a  fadeless  tree; 

I  come  to  scatter  these  blossoms  fair, 

While  kindness  illumines  the  bright  New  Year. 

I've  sung  to  the  morn  with  the  dappled  light. 
And  the  beauteous  tints  of  the  rainbow  bright, 
To  unnumbered  worlds  in  their  high  career, 
Through  regions  of  space — sung  the  bright  New  Year. 

Now,  singing,  I  come  to  the  children  of  earth, 
And  with  rapture  they  echo  my  carol  of  mirth; 
And  the  mourner's  sigh  and  the  orphan's  tear 
Shall  cease  with  the  dawn  of  the  bright  New  Year. 


THE  INDIAN  WIDOW'S  DREAM. 

[A  lady  one  da3\  when  walking  down  to  the  river,  saw  an 
Indian  woman  weaving  moccasins,  wlio  told  her  she  had 
dreamed,  the  night  previous,  that  her  husband  (who  had  lately 
died)  was  cold  and  hungry  in  the  hunting-grounds;  and  she 
was  loading  a  light  raft  with  food  and  clothing  to  send  up  the 
river  to  the  Spirit  Land,  doubting  not  that  it  would  reach  its 
destination  in  safety.] 

I  dreamed  of  my  warrior.     He  stood  alone 

By  the  ice-bound  streams  where  the  deer  roams  wild; 

The  rushing  winds,,  with  hollow  moan. 
Were  rocking  the  trees  like  a  little  child. 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSE?.  Jil3 

He  wandered  on  through  that  forest  dim, 

He  was  cold  and  sad,  and  his  heart  was  sore ; 
No  wigwam  fire  burned  bright  for  him. 

No  evening  meal  when  the  hunt  was  o'er. 
The  birds  sang  not  in  that  far-off  land, 

Nor  came  young  Spring  with  her  early  flowers; 
By  hunger  was  weakened  that  powerful  hand 

Whose  stroke  was  death  in  this  land  of  ours. 
His  eye  was  dark,  but  the  lightning's  fire 

Would  kindle  there  when  the  war-cry  came; 
And  the  sons  of  the  forest,  with  looks  of  ire, 

Would  gather  as  one  at  Mehopac's  name. 
From  valley  green  and  rock-bound  hill. 

From  mountains  high,  where  the  antelopes  rest, 
And  the  screaming  eagle  foreboded  ill, 

As  she  folded  her  wings  round  her  young  ones'  nest. 
But  his  voice  was  low  as  the  curling  wave 

That  laves  the  shore  where  my  baby  sleeps: 
A  lover  fond  and  a  warrior  brave 

Is  my  hunter  dear;  but — he  weeps!  he  weeps! 
For  the  snow  is  cold  and  his  feet  are  bare. 

And  he  dreams  of  me  and  his  darling  boy. 
If  the  Great  Spirit  answers  the  mourner's  prayer, 

His  heart  shall  be  thrilling  with  only  joy. 

With  arrowy  speed  o'er  the  waters  dark. 

With  early  fruits  and  the  dew-gemmed  flowers. 

And  its  burden  of  love,  flew  that  little  bark. 

With  tears  impearled,  from  her  greenwood  bowers. 


214  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 


WHY  I  DO  NOT  DRINK. 

[Written  by  request,  in  answer  to  a  piece  of  an  opposite 
character  which  appeared  in  a  city  journal.] 

I  drink  not — for  the  soul  of  man. 

In  God's  own  image  made,    . 
Should  shun  the  withering  glance  of  shame, 

And  triumph  undismayed: 
For  oh!  it  is  a  godlike  grace, 

Integrity  of  soul; 
It  cheers  us  with  a  brighter  charm 
■  Than  gilds  the  flowing  bowl. 

I  drink  not — for  the  dovelike  tones 

Of  children  greet  mine  ears; 
I  think  on  vows  of  nuptial  love. 

Baptized  in  hallowed  tears. 
The  golden  threads  by  angels  woven, 

That  hearts  together  link. 
Are  sundered  by  the  touch  of  sin — 

That's  why  I  will  not  drink. 

I  drink  not — though  life's  devious  paths 

Be  oft  perplexed  and  dark, 
And  shoals  of  care  and  reefs  of  wrong 

Wreck  many  a  fragile  bark. 
Watching  the  polar  star  of  hope, 

My  life's  sure  compass  mine. 
Fearless  I  breast  the  howling  storm. 

But  shun  the  tempting  wine. 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  215 

I  drink  not — though  a  woman's  scorn 

Should  fling  its  keenest  dart, 
Or  quench  the  hopes  of  loving  years, 

And  desolate  my  heart, 
Friends  cease  to  smile,  and  all  the  wells 

Of  sympathy  dry  up. 
Though  ne'er  a  star  should  light  my  way, 

Yet  taste  I  not  the  cup. 

I  drink  not — in  the  soul  of  man 

Blooms  many  a  precious  flower. 
And  languid  misery  longs  to  breathe 

Their  fragrance  and  their  power. 
The  deeds  within  his  virtue's  scope 

Inspire  my  soul  to  think 
That  soul's  an  embryon  for  Heaven — 

And  so  I  will  not  drink. 


THE  PATRIARCH'S  LAST  HOURS. 

"And  he  worshipped,  leaning  upon  the  top  of  his  staff." 

— Hebrews,  xi.  21 

The  sun,  resplendent,  o'er  the  eastern  sky 
Diffused  the  brilliance  of  his  morning  smile; 
The  bald,  black  mountains  in  that  smile  rejoiced. 
With  sweetest  flowers  that  bloomed  around  their  base. 
And  nature  from  her  dormant  state  awoke. 
Reanimate  with  strength  and  vigor  new. 
Men  rose,  the  paths  of  honest  toil  to  tread. 
Or  love  omniscient  and  supreme  survey 
In  every  charm  that  decked  the  orient  vale. 


216  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

Tears,  from  the  hidden  fountains  of  the  soul — 

Earth's  bitterest  tears — were  falling  silently, 

As,  with  bowed  heads  and  reverential  air, 

The  patriarchs  fondly  gathered  round  the  bed 

That  held  the  form  of  Israel,  their  sire. 

And  childhood,  with  its  artless  smile  of  glee 

And  loving  heart  and  bird-like  voice,  was  there. 

And  wistful  gazed  up  to  a  father's  face. 

And  read — enigma  strange! — dire  sorrow's  lines. 

Wooed  by  the  breeze  of  love,  the  young  ones  laughed, 

Nor  knew  that  tears  were  sorrow's  tracery. 

So  the  gazelle,  'mid  far  Judea's  hills, 

In  flowery  haunts  by  fond  affection  kept, 

Frolics  unconscious  of  a  world  of  grief. 

The  sun  of  Goshen  glowed  o'er  tent  and  field, 
And,  dazzling,  seemed  to  mock  the  patriarchs'  woe. 
Yet,  ah!  when  anguish  racks  the  human  soul. 
And  jars  the  strings  affection's  hand  hath  tuned, 
Till  discord  harsh  grates  on  the  weary  sense, 
The  heart  heeds  not  the  thrilling  tones  of  joy. 
The  smile  of  peace,  or  voice  of  gladdening  hope. 

Now  Israel's  eye  with  lengthening  days  was  dim; 
For  threescore  years  and  ten,  with  restless  step, 
The  earth  he  trod,  felt  mingled  joy  and  grief. 
His  dim  eye  kindled  with  prophetic  fire. 
As,  leaning  on  his  staff,  he  worshipped  God. 
The  hidden  glories  of  the  latter  day 
Shone  through  the  vista  of  unnumbered  years. 
And  the  Redeemer's  everlasting  arms 
Sustained  his  soul.     He  saw  Immanuel's  birth. 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  217 

The  wand  of  peace  his  guardian  angel  waved, 
And  Jacob's  spirit  with  his  fathers  slept. 
The  sunset  ray  waned  on  the  mountain  top, 
Kissed  the  still  wave,  and  faded  in  the  West. 


DO  YOU  .REMEMBER.? 

Alice,  do  you  remember 

How  bright  life's  morning  seemed. 
When,  through  the  glass  of  fancy, 

The  light  of  pleasure  beamed.? 
How,  like  a  transient  meteor, 

Those  happy  moments  passed — 
The  golden  hours  of  childhood. 

That  could  not,  would  not  last.? 

Alice,  do  you  remember 

Our  Sabbath-school  so  dear.? 
The  precepts,  fraught  with  mercy. 

That  won  each  listening  ear.? 
How,  in  God's  temple  kneeling, 

With  contrite  hearts,  we  said 
The  sacred  prayers  together — 

The  sacred  lessons  read  ? 

Alice,  do  you  remember 
The  parting  tears  that  wet 

Cheeks  of  the  loved,  who  fain 
Would  linger  with  us  yet .? 


218  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

Now,  each  through  life  so  lonely- 
Must  take  her  separate  way, 

And  grief  or  joy  alternate 
Will  lend  its  shade  or  ray. 

The  path  we've  trod  is  rugged; 

For  grief's  most  poignant  dart 
Hath  pierced,  with  shaft  unerring, 

Each  young  and  trusting  heart; 
Yet  let  us  bear  it  meekly, 

Our  lot  of  suffering  here. 
Till  faith's  celestial  morrow 

Shall  dry  the  mourner's  tear. 


REST  ON  THE  ROCK. 

I  dreamed;  and  my  mother  stood  by  me.  I  was  weeping; 
she  said:  "Cynthia!  do  not  weep.  Rest  on  the  Rock.  Christ  is 
the  Rock!     Rest  thou  on  Him." 

'T  is  midnight.     Now,  in  slumber  lost, 
They  dream  the  passing  hours  away; 

I  only  wake,  and  memory's  lamp 
Lights  up  her  pure  and  hallowed  ray 

That  burned  in  days  of  innocence, 
Made  holy  by  a  mother's  prayer; 
^  Days  sacred  to  affection's  birth, 

For  oh  !  a  mother's  smile  was  there. 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES..  '        219 

But  she  has  gone,  and  since  that  time 
How  many  clouds  have  frowned  above 

The  skies,  so  tranquil  and  serene 
When  guarded  by  maternal  love ! 

One  night — oh,  'twas  a  pleasing  dream! — 

I  looked  upon  my  mother  dear; 
The  melody  of  that  sweet  voice 

Fell,  as  of  old,  upon  mine  ear. 

"Weep  not,  my  child,  though  thou  art  left 
Alone,  life's  thorny  way  to  tread; 
Rest  on  the  Rock!  and  Christ  shall  be 
A  pillow  to  thy  sinking  head. 

"  Rest  on  the  Rock!     Christ  is  the  Rock 
Of  Ages;  be  thy  refuge  there!" 
Then  to  the  realms  of  light  she  flew, 
And  left  upon  my  cheek  a  tear. 

"  Rest  on  the  Rock!"     Those  precious  words 
The  safeguard  of  my  life  shall  be: 
Let  me  not  fall,  when  lured  to  sin — 
Oh!  aid  me,  Christ,  to  rest  on  thee' 


220  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 


NO  MORE—NO  MORE! 

Tranquil  and  holy  was  the  Sabbath  eve. 
The  dying  rays  of  crimson  light  had  flung 
Their  parting  greeting  to  the  summer  flowers, 
Then  veiled  their  beauty  in  the  shades  of  heaven. 
Oh!  't  was  an  hour  for  contemplation  high, 
When  the  rapt  soul  on  holy  things  might  feast, 
And  hold  communion  with  the  Great  Supreme. 
On  the  soft  breeze  that  stirred  each  leafy  spray, 
Like  angel  music,  came  the  voice  of  prayer; 
For  God's  own  people  in  the  temple  met. 
To  pay  their  homage  at  his  Son's  dear  feet. 
Angelic  peace  seemed  brooding  o'er  the  scene, 
Stamping  her  impress  on  each  living  thing. 

How  suddenly  is  beauty  changed  to  grief! 
The  azure  sky  with  lurid  flames  grew  bright. 
And  hurried  steps  and  words  of  anxious  dread 
Broke  on  the  ear  like  echo's  mournful  tones. 
The  flames  rolled  high,  the  crackling  timbers  fell; 
Dome,  roof,  and  wall  in  burning  ruin  sank, 
And  that  fair  house  shall  glad  the  eye  no  more. 

•  There  found  the  heart  by  sorrowing  sin  oppressed 
All-glorious  faith  to  dissipate  its  gloom; 
The  white-haired  man,  the  widow  desolate. 
And  young  hearts  glowing  with  the  light  of  hope. 
All  knelt  to  bless  a  common  Saviour  there. 
The  dear  old  bell,  whose  well-known  voice  was  heard 
At  life's  bright  dawning  and  its  sunset  hour, 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  221 

With  one  vibration,  long  and  loud,  last  fell. 

How  seemed  that  thrilling  tone  to  say,  Farewell ! 
I  shall  ring  no  more  on  your  festive  day, 
When  merry  and  blithe  your  children  play, 
When  joy  lights  up  in  the  matron's  eye. 
And  the  shadows  of  pleasure  are  flitting  by. 
My  story  is  told,  and  my  time  is  o'er. 
Ye  shall  hear  my  voice  no  more — no  more! 

With  tear-dimmed  eyes,  and  hearts  bowed  down  in  grief, 

They  heard  the  last  sad  sound — No  more — No  more! 


THE   KEY  OF  CONTENT. 

The  sun  rose  up  resplendently  bright. 
And  pencilled  the  ocean  and  earth  with  light; 
The  rivulets  laughed  in  the  glance  of  day, 
And  the  birds  were  singing  from  spray  to  spray. 

The  fields  were  yellow  with  ripening  grain. 
And  the  voice  of  the  reaper  was  heard  again; 
Joy  ruled  the  blithe  morning,  with  beauties  besprent. 
And  I  asked  why  a  daughter  of  earth  should  lament. 

Then  came  the  answering  voice  of  the  flowers: 
"Anon  will  she  weep  in  this  world  of  ours; 
She  will  weep,  for  the  golden  hues  of  bliss 
Melt  away  like  the  dew  on  the  sunbeam's  kiss." 

"  Mid  your  flowery  deeps  so  fragrant  and  blessed. 
Oh!  may  not  her  sorrows  be  soothed  to  rest.'*" 
As  the  flowers  shook  their  heads,  they  perfumed  the  air, 
And  mournfully  answered,  "  Not  here — not  here." 


222  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

O'er  the  rustic  bridge  of  a  brawling  brook, 
That  wound  its  way  through  a  shady  nook, 
And  a  cedar  grove,  I  passed  to  find 
The  balm  of  peace  for  the  wounded  mind. 

A  mansion  arose  on  the  distant  height. 
With  its  glittering  dome  in  the  sun's  warm  light; 
Its  forest  trees  in  their  peaceful  shade 
Embosomed  a  fountain,  that  warbled  and  played 
With  the  silken  flowers.     Oh!  so  sweetly  fair 
Was  that  calm  retreat  from  a  world  of  care. 

Yet  a  lady  stood  on  the  portico, 
And  mournfully  gazed  on  the  scene  below; 
Her  brow  was  sad,  and  she  breathed  in  sighs. 
And  tears  welled  up  in  her  hazel  eyes. 

I  deemed  not  that  death's  Cimmerian  gloom 
Had  cast  its  shade  o'er  her  beauty's  bloom; 
But  the  tyrant  with  stealthy  step  had  come, 
And  broken  her  heart,  and  robbed  her  home. 
There  lurked  not  the  gleam  of  one  blessed  smile, 
To  lighten  her  lips  and  her  woes  to  beguile. 

Then  I  turned  my  steps  to  an  old  elm  wood, 
By  the  noisy  mill,  where  a  cottage  stood; 
There  daughters  of  poverty  held  their  abode. 
Who  bade  me  come  in  and  partake  of  their  food. 

Though  I  thought  ofthe  mansion  all  mantled  in  gloom, 
I  still  found  the  cotters'  a  beggarly  doom, 


A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES.  223 

Since  few  of  earth's  blessings  to  them  had  been  given; 
But  they  answered,  "  Our  wealth  is  with  Jesus  in  heaven, 
Where  jewels  are  graces  that  garnish  the  blest, 
Afar  from  this  world  with  its  griefs  and  unrest." 

And  the  aged  matron  arose  and  took 

From  its  little  stand  a  holy  book: 

"Here  gather,"  she  cried,  "faith,  hope,  and  love, 

To  fit  thy  soul  for  its  home  above." 

Each  fingered  page  seemed  a  lamp  of  light, 
A  beacon  of  hope  to  the  child  of  night. 
Here,  here  let  the  sorrowing  soul  find  rest, 
'T  is  the  balm  of  peace  for  the  bleeding  breast; 
Her  rock  of  strength  is  the  book  of  God, 
Her  guiding  star  to  his  dear  abode. 


FATHERLAND. 

DEDICATED    TO   MR.    A.    REIFF,    MUSIC- TEACHER   IN    THE 
NEW    YORK    INSTITUTION    FOR    THE    BLIND. 

There  is  a  charm  all  holy  and  pure. 

That  comes  o'er  my  soul  when,  at  eve's  soft  hour, 
I  think  of  the  land  where  in  gladness  I  dwelt. 

When  my  spirits  were  buoyant  in  childhood's  green 
bower. 
My  heart-strings  cling  round  thee,  thou  bright  land  of 

glee— 
Oh!  I  cannot  forget  thee,  beloved  Germany. 


224  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

'T  was  pleasant,  when  radiant  with  stars  looked  the  sky, 
And  the  peasant  from  toil  to  his  cottage  would  come, 

With  my  brother  to  roam  o'er  the  mountains  afar, 
And  hear  the  last  echo  of  "  Home,  sweet  home." 

'  T  is  rapture  to  bless  thee,  thou  bright  land  of  glee — 

Oh !   I  cannot  forget  thee,  beloved  Germany, 

Thou  fair  land  of  science,  the  poet's  own  theme. 
How  oft  would  thy  music,  with  charm  all  divine, 

Entrance  my  glad  spirit  with  joy  not  its  own! 

The  strains  seemed  of  heaven,  that  rolled  o'er  the 
Rhine. 

Thou  home  of  sweet  music — O  bright  land  of  glee ! 

How  could  I  forget  thee,  beloved  Germany.? 

I  dwell  in  a  land  where  the  olive  branch  sheds 
Its  unction  and  glory,  its  peace-lighted  smile, 

And  the  friends  of  my  bosom  are  blessing  my  name, 
And  the  sweet  strains  of  music  my  lone  hours  beguile; 

Yet  o'er  my  calm  spirit  come  bright  thoughts  of  thee — 

Oh !   I  sigh  to  behold  thee,  beloved  Germany. 

Perchance  I  may  greet  thee,  dear  land  of  my  heart; 

In  gladness  roam  over  thy  mountains  again. 
And  view  the  bright  scenes  by  my  infancy  loved. 

And  hear  the  sweet  voice  of  my  brother  again. 
In  the  sunset  of  life,  ere  my  spirit  is  free. 
My  last  breath  shall  bless  thee,  beloved  Germany. 


A    CLUSTER   OF    ROSES.  225 


THE   PASSOVER. 

Through  the  still  air  the  hallelujah  rose, 

And,  like  the  sound  of  many  waters  sweet, 

On  the  charmed  ear  of  the  lone  Christian  fell. 

Great  Judah's  heart  with  her  high  theme  was  stirred. 

For  holy  recollections  thronged  the  soul, 

And  woke  dead  hope,  and  kindled  zeal  anew 

To  swell  the  glories  of  the  paschal  day. 

Centuries  have  rolled  their  tide  of  years  away, 
Yet  to  their  fathers'  faith  the  children  cling. 
Still  weeping,  praying  for  a  brighter  day, 
When  Shiloh's  presence  shall  the  earth  illume, 
And  barren  deserts  bloom  as  Sharon's  vale. 

Do  dark  eyes  kindle  with  devotion's  fire, 

Or  holy  tears  some  aged  cheek  bedew. ^ 

I  see  them  not,  and  yet  I  dream  't  is  so. 

Father  of  love,  oh!  hear  thy  people's  prayer, 

Who  in  suspense  untold  are  languishing. 

For  these  are  thine.     When  shall  the  day-star  rise. 

And  Israel  know  e'en  now  Messiah  reigns, 

And  own  our  Christ  the  mighty  King  of  kings  .^ 


226  A  CLUSTER  OF  ROSES. 


WHEN  THE  CARES  OF  DAY  ARE  OVER. 

When  the  cares  of  day  are  over, 
And  the  young,  contending,  hover 

Round  their  reverend  sire; 
When  the  latest  bird  of  even 
Sings  its  farewell  lay  to  heaven, 

Friendship  tunes  her  lyre. 

From  the  depths  of  soul  upspringing, 
Tender  memory,  fragrance  flinging, 

Halcyon  days  brings  back; 
Happy  hours  that  pass  too  fleetly. 
Throng  with  love's  own  music  sweetly 

Round  life's  thorny  track. 

In  the  dim,  dim  twilight  kneeling. 
When  the  tide  of  holy  feeling 

Gusheth  up  to  God, 
May  our  thoughts,  like  sunbeams  blending, 
In  one  mutual  prayer  ascending. 

Reach  his  dear  abode. 

Love  hath  found  a  fragrant  blossom; 
May  it  in  thy  gentle  bosom 

Ever  sweetly  bloom: 
Ivoving  eyes  of  friendship  smiling, 
Every  earth-born  care  beguiling. 

Cheer  life's  passing  noon. 


A  CLUStER  OP   kOSES.  227 

As  the  red  light  fading,  fading, 
Leaves  a  holier  calm  pervading 

All  the  peaceful  earth, 
So  may  gentle  words  oft  spoken — 
Holy  deeds — a  blessed  token 

Leave  of  priceless  worth. 


\ 


THE  VOICE  OF  FLOWERS. 

The  voice  of  flowers  is  the  voice  of  prayer. 
Soothing  the  soul  in  its  time  of  care; 
The  voice  of  flowers  is  the  voice  of  love, 
Luring  the  soul  to  its  rest  above. 

The  voice  of  flowers,  like  a  glistening  star. 
Beguiles  the  wandering  one  afar, 
Through  regions  of  space  to  life's  blessed  streams. 
Where  the  Lamb's  pure  glory  eternally  gleams. 

The  voice  of  flowers  hath  a  silvery  tone. 
Winning  poor  sinners  to  mercy's  throne; 
And  we  bend  the  knee  as  the  notes  of  praise 
Attune  our  souls  to  seraphic  lays. 

The  voice  of  flowers  is  the  old  man's  friend, 
For  it  sings  how  the  journey  of  life  shall  end; 
The  voice  of  flowers  to  the  youth  can  bring 
The  sunshine  of  truth  in  his  blooming  spring. 


228  A    CLUSTER    OF    ROSES. 

The  voice  of  flowers,  in  the  hour  of  death, 
With  faukless  music  and  fragrant  breath, 
A  whispering  angel  of  mercy,  shall  come. 
Wooing  the  soul  to  its  holier  home. 


WE    MEET    AGAIN. 

We  meet  again!     Since  last  we  met, 

"How  many  loved  have  passed  away; 
How  many  golden  suns  have  set. 
Yet  left  a  bright  and  cheering  ray ! 

We  meet  again!     But  not  in  tears, 
For  friendship's  pure  immortal  chain 

Hath  linked  the  past  of  many  years, 
And  wreathed  the  flowers  of  joy  again. 

We  meet  again!     And  i)leasure's  light 
Hath  wooed  you,  with  its  magic  smile 

Of  more  than  rainbow's  beauty  bright, 
Lulling  to  sleep  each  care  the  while. 

We  meet  again!     Your  voices  dear 
With  love's  own  music  greet  me  now; 

Grief  hath  not  left  a  darkening  tear 
Or  shadow  on  one  youthful  brow. 


THE    END, 


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